I was walking into my in-laws’ house from the porch and trying not to trip over their dog, Misty.
“Excuse me,” I said.
My mother-in-law thought I was talking to her and said, “What?”
“I was talking to the dog,” I said.
After a few minutes, I was returning to the back porch, when I heard my mother-in-law say something that I didn’t catch.
“What?” I said.
“I was talking to the cat,” she said, referring to Fester.
These two exchanges made perfect sense to us because we’re both pet lovers and expect to have conversations with the animals in our lives.
I’ve had long-running heart-to-hearts with Misty. Mostly, they were about how much of a good dog she was, and it always seemed as though she was in full agreement.
But I could’ve been imagining it. I read that dogs don’t understand many words when you get down to it.
She was fine as long as I saying, “Misty,” “good,” and “dog,” but I wouldn’t expect her to have an opinion about the war in Ukraine or the Jan. 6 Committee hearings.
What are the limits of a dog’s vocabulary? Or a cat’s? They spend so much time with us that they probably know more than we let on.
Or we spend so much time with them that we think they know more than they let on. It could go either way, I suppose.
I suspect the strong bonds we build provide our pets with all kinds of information, and some of it is beyond our ability to understand.
If they don’t get the words, they pick up on our tones of voice and postures.
I wonder if our scents change in subtle ways depending on what we say. What if Misty has no idea what “Excuse me” means, but she could smell my desire not to step on her?
If so, that would explain why the brazen little thing didn’t try to get out of the way because she knew I was determined to avoid hurting her even if she refused to move.
What do you think goes on inside a feline or canine mind? Sure, it’s often as simple as “feed me” and “pet me,” but could it be far more complicated: “The humidity in here makes my fur feel weird. Fix it.”
The word “humidity” is a stretch, but dogs and cats are aware of their surroundings. Maybe the moisture in the air is something they track.
One time, a comedian said people don’t like to be intellectually challenged, and that’s why we keep pets, who are like life-long toddlers.
That comedian probably would be happy I forgot his name because I butchered his joke. I remembered it because I wasn’t sure if I believed it or not.
In some ways, Misty is like a toddler: she’s easily entertained and eats vile things off the floor. Fester listens about as well as a toddler does.
Then there are times when Misty does her “dog” things if you know what I mean. She smells millions of scents and follows instincts that her ancestors honed while running wild and free.
Fester comes from his own long, proud and deadly lineage. So much so that the word “toddler” would be an insult. Perhaps, I should apologize for even thinking it.
Maybe it’s better for us if we don’t know what’s going on between their fuzzy ears. Mystery keeps relationships fresh.
