Friends, it’s too hot to work. Too hot to even think about work. And since we’re sweating through the “dog days” of summer, I’m turning over my keyboard this week to an actual dog with opinions. I’ll be a few feet away eating a popsicle and making sure he doesn’t drool on my desk. Here’s Mac:
Hello and many friendly tail wags and toothy smiles to all the people out there I’d like to sniff. I’m a service dog by training who’s new to written communication. Body language is more of my specialty, but I’ll give this a try in case there are treats involved.
Even when it’s this hot outside, dogs aren’t lazy, despite what you may have seen or heard about the dog days of summer. All of us, including non-working dogs, are in the service business. Sometimes humans don’t realize how much we do for them, but most of us have a daily menu of services we provide. Here’s the list:
Wake-up service: Humans are prone to oversleeping, which is why they schedule their phones to scream at them each morning. I provide a softer, kinder wake-up experience that involves me stretching my huge, 90-pound body over her chest, making it hard for her to breathe. When she begins to wake, I administer sloppy kisses on her face and arms. Once she’s sticky with dog spit and is struggling for air, she’s much more likely to get up and feed me breakfast.
Noise and motion detection service: After breakfast, it’s all about noise and motion detection. Even the toughest of human bodyguards cannot hear or sniff danger coming like a dog can. We dogs set a wide perimeter, and anything that moves inside this bubble — a neighbor on a walk, the evil FedEx truck, a wayward leaf — it all gets a fierce barking. I press my big, black nose to the front window so they can see my scary glare. The human often tells me to “leave it” and stop barking, and when I occasionally accept that order, I get a treat. But if another leaf blows by 30 seconds later, I’ll loudly alert her to the danger once again because I’m committed to this work.
Meal observation service: If she’s eating chicken or cheese, I get as close as possible, maybe rest my chin on her leg under the table so she remembers I’m right here. If she happens to drop even a shred of cheese, I snap it up because automatic crumb removal is included at no extra charge.
Entertaining stage plays: Humans like it when I act out a dramatic scene with an unsuspecting scene partner. I choose a victim from the toy basket, carry it to the middle of the living room (center stage), and then I pounce on it like it’s a felon. Pretending I’m a wild bear, I growl and thrash the stuffed toy back and forth with impressive speed and fearsome force. Then I pin it down with my front paws and disembowel the enemy, scattering its fluffy white guts around the room like freshly fallen snow.
This is when at least one member of the audience complains about “the mess.” (Frankly, I don’t see it. One person’s mess is another dog’s glorious achievement.) After she collects the puffy entrails, I follow her to the kitchen where she puts it in the trash. While we’re there, I perform yet another service by reminding her where she keeps the dog treats. I herd her toward that magical drawer and hope she notices it’s right there and that I’m a very, very good boy.
Treat tester: I’m so skilled at treat testing that I can now quickly confirm which ones are delicious and which ones are harboring a nasty pill or supplement. My humans do not seem to appreciate my high degree of accuracy, but I continue to uphold my standards of excellence.
In addition to the five services outlined above, I also provide long, adoring stares, charming gestures including head tilts and ear flops, and the occasional mischievous side eye. People love these perks, and I use these moves to train the humans to dole out more treats. Works every time. They’re very simple creatures.
Now, I must close because it’s time to perform another service called the “sofa quality assurance test,” which requires a lengthy mid-day snooze. Until next week, may you and your hard-working dogs stay cool, eat a popsicle, and maybe sprint through the sprinkler just for fun.
Gwen Rockwood is a syndicated freelance columnist. Email her at gwenrockwood5@gmail.com. Her books are available on Amazon.