Brilliant savant or mindless mutt? The debate rages on

Petty jealousy is what we lightheartedly chalk it up to when our human children downplay the brilliance of our beloved mutt, Frankie. He, who fills once-silent hallways with the patter of small feet, greets every meal as if it was the most delicious ever presented and willingly accepts the far end of the sofa as perfectly adequate and joyfully comfortable but all too often faces the ridicule of the very beings who grew up, flew the coup and left us alone in an empty nest. It’s jealousy, nothing more.

When they talk Frankie down for, let’s say, swiping an entire loaf of bread from on top of the breadbox, which in turn sits atop the kitchen counter, the human children are failing to recognize the wile and wit required to accomplish such complex behavior. When the kids cast him as an unapologetic, no-account thief, they fail to acknowledge Frankie is always very, very sorry for his various transgressions and is quick to bow his head, low-wag his tail and give us each a big long hug.

“Parents, listen to me,” Charlotte has said. “There is nothing productive going on inside that ‘adorable’ head of his. Not. One. Thing.”

Obviously, she has only a limited understanding of the complexities of the dog mind. While we mere mortals toil endlessly, deal with all manner of self-made problems and work ourselves a little closer toward death each day, dogs calmly lay on the fireside rug of life, licking their paws and wondering what all the fuss is about. Frankie isn’t dumb. He just doesn’t care.

I express this emphatically to Charlotte and the others, but I will admit that just every once in a while, I have to wonder if there is just the tiniest kernel of truth to their claim that Frankie isn’t quite as sharp as we think. There’s the fact he doesn’t seem to realize that in order for us to vacuum the floor beneath him, he needs to move. Nor does he recognize the whole notion of eating cat poop as inherently repulsive and problematic. But perhaps the clearest indication Frankie may not be the chess champion we imagine him to be came just the other day on an excursion afield.

Kristin and I were out cross-country skiing with Frankie along. Unleashed and bounding wildly alongside through a fresh 4 inches of powder, we were quickly convinced the dog has now found his very favorite thing to do. When the three of us took pause to cock our collective ears to the sound of a large and raucous flock of Canada geese flying overhead, two of us immediately followed our ears to the sky. The third, despite a full quarter of his own genetic heritage specifically attuned to the sights and sounds of flocking fowl, failed to look skyward even as the birds flew directly over his head. Instead, Frankie stared unblinking at the far horizon, his head tilted with intrigue.

“His Labrador ancestors are rolling over in their graves right now,” I said to Kristin. “We’ll not be telling the kids about this.”

“Not one word,” she agreed. “Besides, he’s probably just thinking of other, more important things.”

Kristin and John Lorson would love to hear from you. Write Drawing Laughter, P.O. Box 170, Fredericksburg, OH 44627, or email John at jlorson@alonovus.com.