Dogs Know When…
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By Chris Robinson
For something that is unable to speak, dogs don’t seem to lack the ability to communicate. That seems to be especially true when they know they have done something special and they expect bravos. Or, on those occasions when they want you to know that they have just gotten even for something you have done that didn’t meet with their approval.
With my dogs, the demand for applause after a piece of good work or a show of disdain when something I did offended them started at least six dog generations ago. I sent the number one dog in my personal pack for a duck that had fallen just inside the first layer of reeds directly across the marsh from where I was standing. I sent him secure in the knowledge that there could be no doubt where that duck was located because I knew where it had hit the water and I also knew it fell dead. The dog, however, apparently had other ideas and he kept drifting to the left of the line I had given him to the bird. Each time he moved to the left, I would stop him and force him back on to the original line but after a few yards, he would again begin drifting left. Finally, when he got to the reed line, I stopped him once again and gave him a really hard right “over.”
However, instead of the obedient turn to the right that I had ordered and expected, I got a “Listen, stupid, I have a nose and way more bird sense than you’ll ever have. I actually know where the duck is” look and he turned to the left swimming into the reeds. His disobedience, naturally, sent me into screaming frustration but, despite my furious yelling, he persisted in swimming left through the reeds until he was a good 100 yards away from where I knew the dead bird was located. I was about halfway across the dike that bisected the marsh with plans to intercept the dog, pound the snot out of that damnable, obstinate animal, and then send him to the spot where the duck actually was located when out of the reeds came the dog carrying the duck. The bird I was convinced was dead was instead very much alive and only the dog’s superior bird sense had allowed me to recover it.
Despite praise to the stars for his work, the dog was not about to just let this episode slide by. He graciously smiled and danced about the dike as he accepted the accolades of my hunting partners but when I attempted to offer similar huzzahs, he huffily moved away from me and very deliberately sat down and turned his back to me. Not only did I have to put up with the dog’s disdain but I also had to endure the hoots of derision from my hunting partners who were not one bit reticent about reminding me of my oft-stated refrain, “Trust your dog!”
He also got back at me in obedience. First of all, it is important to know that he never particularly liked obedience although he did manage to earn a UD title. Like anything not involving birds, he viewed obedience as a pointless activity and he only did it because he loved me believing he needed to humor me because I had clearly taken leave of my senses. We had been waiting our turn to go into the ring when one of the dog’s human friends walked by us. Friendly fellow that he was, the dog nearly pulled me off my feet in his attempt to greet his pal. Reflexively, I yanked on his leash and dragged him back to heel position. When I looked down at the dog, it was instantly clear that my action had been a mistake because the expression on his face was pure outrage.
Once in the ring, he did every utility exercise with greater perfection than I had ever seen from this dog. Finally, on the directed jumping exercise, he raced down the mat to the end of the ring like a champion racehorse exploding out of the starting gate. At the end of the mat, wonder of wonders, he actually sat on command, something he refused to do even in the field when I was trying to handle him to a bird he did not see fall. When I sent him for the high jump, he raced down the mat to the jump and there was absolutely no way he could possibly not absolutely sail over that jump. He was about to become a UD dog. Not so fast, Shakespeare! He disappeared behind the jump and I waited, and waited, and waited. No dog. Like a reining horse on a slide stop, he had skidded to a halt a foot or so in front of the jump. Finally, he peeked around the jump at me and, I absolutely swear, he smiled at me. And, everything about him–his facial expression, his body language, his sly smile–said only one thing, “Gotcha!” Needless to say, I never again insulted him before we entered the ring in obedience or conformation, or before we went to the line at a field event.
On a different occasion, the son of the insulted dog made a spectacular retrieve of a goose. I had executed a long, difficult passing shot on the bird but it was not a clean kill. In fact, all I’d managed to do was break a wing. So, the goose was very lively and also very much into escape and evasion. Every time the dog would get close, the goose would dive under the water reappearing some distance away. Again and again, the dog closed in and each time the goose would dive. This water ballet went on for nearly a half-hour with neither side showing any signs of capitulating. When I was about ready to reach for my whistles to try to call the dog off the bird considering it to be lost, the goose made a fatal error. It let the dog get just a bit too close before it dove and the dog, having clearly had enough of the goose’s antics, wasn’t about to not take advantage of the mistake. When the goose submerged, so did the dog. For a very long half-minute or so there was nothing to see but water. No goose, no dog. Then suddenly, the dog surfaced, snorting and shaking his head. When he turned to come back to me, lo and behold, there was the goose, firmly held in his mouth. It was such an outstanding finale to his retrieve that it needed to be accompanied by the “Triumphal March” from Aida or perhaps more appropriately, the “Alla Hornpipe” from Handel’s Water Music Suite in D Major, and I did everything but scatter rose petals in his path as he returned with his prize. When he climbed back up on the dike, instead of bringing the goose directly to me as was his usual practice, he took two parade laps making certain to circle every member of the entire hunting party on each lap showing off his trophy and proclaiming with his body language what a clever dog he was. When he was satisfied that everyone properly appreciated what he had done, he finally presented the goose to me.
The proud dog’s grandson also responded to applause following a sensational effort to retrieve a goose. The bird was on the ground but when the dog closed in for the catch, the goose began to get airborne again. The dog leaped as high as he could after the goose as it attempted to fly away and caught no more than a toe or a tail feather at the apex of his leap. Whatever he managed to grab, it was enough to bring the goose crashing back to earth with the dog also hitting the deck nearly as hard as the goose causing him to lose what had been a tenuous hold to begin with. Unluckily for the goose, the dog recovered his wits first, scrambled to his feet and snatched up the goose. As he trotted back with his booty, since he had clearly captured the goose a mere split second before it would have escaped, he first nodded left and then right, then left and then right again, bowing in acknowledgment of the cheers and applause from the members of the hunting party. He was happy to accept the acclamation but didn’t want to get effusive in his thanks. In fact, he was just nonchalant enough to communicate that he didn’t really view his performance as anything special but rather merely what would be expected of any competent retriever.
It isn’t just sporting breeds that demand and expect acknowledgment of their accomplishments nor are they the only ones who are “Joe Cool” when the bravos are directed at them. Sally Fineburg provided this story about her Rhodesian Ridgeback, Hudzon, who is the breed’s first champion tracker. “The President of the Rhodesian Ridgeback Club of the United States lost her car keys at a local university while exercising her dogs on a couple of football fields one morning at a national specialty, and even though she walked all over the fields she couldn’t find them. While not by any stretch of the imagination a traditional track and one with tons of scent all over, we thought we’d see if Hudzon could find them. She explained where she thought she was but Hudzon kept indicating a different area. Meanwhile large tractor-style mowers were cutting the fields. Even with all the distractions and scent everywhere, Hudzon worked the tracks and sure enough he found the keys! He slapped the keys with his front paw as is his usual practice when he finds an article but then he pawed at them several more times before slapping them again which he doesn’t usually do. Then he insisted on carrying them as he pranced, and I do mean pranced, off the field. He absolutely knew he was the hero who had saved the day. Of course, everyone made a big fuss over him and while he soaked up the attention, he also was cool and made sure everyone understood ‘Hey, I’m a champion tracker. I find stuff like this all the time.’”
Herding dogs are also more than willing to let you know when they’ve done something special. Vicki Kirsher said that her Pembroke Welsh Corgi, Toney, loves his herding instructor. So, whenever he does something special like re-penning the stock or making a great outrun, when he’s called off the stock, he looks at the herding instructor expecting acknowledgment from her of how wonderful he really is and what a good dog he has been. When she fails to properly respond, he’s upset.
To those of you who say we are just anthropomorphizing, I say “Pshaw” or in view of the years I collected a paycheck from Uncle Sam, more likely something substantially stronger and certainly more profane. If you had seen the dogs after each of these events occurred, there could be no doubt whatever that what we saw from the dogs has been accurately reported and while they are unable to speak, what they were communicating was unmistakable: That dogs know when…
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Posted by ralbee
on Jul 14 2015. Filed under Current Articles, Editorial, Featured.
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