Why Your Dog Cares About You

All happy dogs are like one another; each unhappy dog is unhappy in its own way.

It is Steven, and I believe that I can forget about ever really using “Rex” again. The last time I spoke to you, I discussed the effect of “being fixed” on other dogs. My owner, soon revealed by a change in his scent, brought me to the box where such things happen…and he did not give me that grotesque procedure. Perhaps it was staring at my face, and realizing that we have a very long history with each other kept him from allowing me to lose my essence. Perhaps I was lucky to have a master that realized I would be a very different type of dog if he did this.

But I must confess as to the real reason why he did not let me go through with it.

I licked his face.

You humans still wonder why we do this. I have heard many very imaginative studies and theories put forward about why we do something that seems so degrading. It is not a complicated gesture, or something that you should over-analyze.

It means we like you.

I like my master, and I do not always show it. Some of my friends still wonder if I am too distant with my affections, but I prefer to keep the relationship as professional as possible…until I need to be “fixed”.

That lick… My master believes that I am kind and peaceful now, so there is no risk of return to that other place. And I have managed to control my emotions in our other box when the cat (you do remember the whole reason for my journey to that fearful place for the “fixing”, right?).

No problems there with such an…animal… I did not see him and his scent was quite faint. Perhaps my master chose me over that other one? Maybe…

It was a good thing that I was able to see the others when I came back and that they could tell I was all right.

“You remain untouched?”

Greybeard saw me later that day. He was excited to see that there was no change in me.

“I was lucky. I had to debase myself in public to avoid such a fate.”

He was confused at first, and then realized what I was talking about.

“You licked his face?”

“I had to; rather necessary, I believe.”

Greybeard considered this for a moment (he was always a deep thinker). “I suppose…I would have done the same thing.”

“Perhaps…”

“At least Jenny will be pleased.”

I had forgotten about her. Jenny was not too far from our box and I knew that I would have to be near her one day. The neighborhood was not that large and we all knew its dimensions quite well. She would be someone that I would have to face…some day.

“Besides, this is a very special day.”

Greybeard was concerned as he said that.

“I do not follow.”

“Go home and look at the light box. All the humans here seem very concerned about a death.” He was staring off down the street, perhaps looking to see if there were other dogs that might cross his path. “You should return now.” And he was off.

That was very strange. Greybeard was often much more talkative than this. I was a little frightened when I went through my private door and heard silence in the box.

And then I heard a noise.

My master was crying.

I slowly tiptoed into the front area near the food spot and stopped for a moment. He was in tears with a face I recognized only once before in the box. That moment had been very tense when the other mistress left and he pleaded and begged her to stay with him. In such an embarrassing moment, he even managed to get down on his knees and raise his hands to ask for forgiveness. This was quite disturbing to me because he looked…like a dog. I even joined him to see if I could help, but she simply stared past the both of us and went out of the box forever. Her scent was quickly replaced by…sadness? My master had no replacement for her. There was no effort to bring in another female to take her place.

Maybe that was the reason why he was so emotional over another female.

The face seemed familiar. I could not be absolutely sure, but it was one that seemed to be on those pieces of silver that he would count out and place in his special jar or his brown pocket folder (“wallet” is a very odd term). And there she was, all over the screen, with many other faces discussing her life and the length of time – 70 years; was such an amount of time possible? - she spent as “The Queen”.

That was deeply offensive to me; it should be offensive to all dogs. How dare anyone make an assumption that she was our ruling monarch as well? Dogs have our own way of organizing ourselves and we have never tried to crown anyone “King” or “Queen”.

But why was I not angry at my master?

Was it just the tears, the sad face, or the complete silence from him as he saw me sidle up to him and sit on the available space next to him (he often had reasons for not allowing me onto his furniture)?

Perhaps it was all of those things.

Perhaps I still love my master and do not like to see him sad for any reason, even one that I find a little ridiculous and offensive.

Why did Greybeard not explain such things to me when we met?

There was much that I would have to discuss with him when the moment passed. But for now, I had to help out as well as I could.

It was another lick, not too wet or too long, but enough for him to understand that I would be there for him. He did turn to look at me, rub my ears at the appropriate spots, and let me rest on his shoulder.

Maybe I should look for Jenny later…