Dog Fascist?

Are you a dog fascist? I am, according to Elizabeth Marshall Thomas, an anthropologist and dog expert. In her book, The Social Lives of Dogs, Thomas chronicles a fifteen year time period with four of her beloved canine friends. Thomas shares story after story about the many animals that live in her home. The main thrust being that, even with multiple dogs, they chose to reside in groups with a human rather than in a group with each other. Sundog, the stray she rescued from freezing to death, was her inspiration. Not a fan of telling her dogs how to be or act, Thomas allows them have their freedom on her country property. The only behaviors she trains them to obey are:

1. the meaning of "no"
2. to go to the bathroom outside
3. to come when called

The beautiful thing about this book is her genuine love for all animals. Thomas does her best to explain their thoughts and feelings in a smart, realistic manner, asking the reader to come along and believe she's a canine mind reader. As an anthopologist, who has lived all over the world, she comes off as unpretentious with her no nonsense writing.

So, why am I a dog fascist? Thomas believes that the American way of breeding, training and locking up our dogs is inhumane. Dogs know who they want to breed with. They know who they want to live with. They can learn to behave in public without humans freaking out and always having them on leashes. The mere fact that I have a pure bred dog makes me a dog fascist. But I'm okay with that. This book opened up another perspective on pet owning. Maybe one day I'll let Charlotte off her leash and run free in a field. But until that day, I think we're doing just fine. She gets more walks than any little dog of her size really needs.

Passive Aggressive

I talk for my dog. I admit it. She has a voice and sometimes says inapropriate things. I know parents who do this with their children too. But it's called to my attention that I can be passive aggressive through her.



Hey guys, I'd really like to go outside!

 For example, we'll be walking around the neighborhood and I'll see a neighbor out watering her plants. Not feeling the most talkative, I'll stop for a few minutes and then "Charlotte" will need to get back home to eat, or nap or lay around. Why can't I just say Ok, I need to get going. It's safer for my dog to need me to leave. It's more comfortable if I have an excuse. It keeps me from any awkward silences or misteps.

But the reality is that lawn watering lady doesn't care how long I stay and chat or if I just walk by and wave. My interaction with her is a much bigger deal in my head than in real life. I think I'll keep Charlotte's voice confined to the privacy of my home where Barry can laugh at her ridiculous antics.

A Girl and her Dog

Driving through Denver on our way to a movie screening, Barry and I saw a young woman cross the street with her small, black dog. Her clothes hung off of her tall, skinny frame. She held a cardboard sign that read: "Need dog food. Anything helps." I sat at the stop light watching this woman and her little dog scurry up capital hill, wondering how they ended up this way. Did she have family? Had she been kicked out or abandoned? Was this dog her only friend, the only thing in the world she had left to hang onto?

The light turned green and I cut across traffic to turn in her direction. I told Barry I wanted to help her. We drove around the corner and saw her walking up the street. I pulled over, rolled down my window and Barry handed her a bill. She looked at us and thanked us profusely. I think I said I had a little dog. I think Barry said God bless you. As we drove away I saw her look up to the sky and say "Thank God."

I don't know why I felt compelled to give something to this particular girl. I see homeless people all the time. But maybe this girl needed it the most. Maybe she was on the verge of complete hoplessness. But there was something about her and her tiny pup. We're all only a few bad circumstances away from being that girl. But for the grace of God go I.

My only regret is that I didn't ask for her name.