Actions Bark Louder Than Words
By Ron Marr (03/24/04)
Some years ago, while being interviewed for a feature article, I was asked a very wise question. "Why" said the writer, "does someone who lives as solo as you do align himself completely with dogs, the animals with the strongest pack instinct?"
That inquiry has crossed my mind many times; it was probably one of the few queries ever posed to me that I couldn't answer outright and definitively. Unlike the feckless probings of most scribes, whose usual tactics fall in the vein of sticking a microphone in the face of distraught parents and asking how they felt about little Johnny being run over my a Mac truck, this fellow's interrogatory went deep beneath the surface and touched on areas I'd never thought to explore.
I'm still not sure I have the whole answer, but I do have part of it. The easy response would be that which is readily apparent but nonetheless true. Dogs are loyal and honest and you generally know where they stand (or sit, or lie down). They don't beat around the bush, they merely lift a leg on it. They are compassionate to the core, and if they do deceive or steal every so often, it is only in a playful, "ha! tricked you into giving me that piece of steak," manner. Love them, and they return that love unconditionally and eternally. They are quick to forgive an affront, and only hold grudges against cats. Dogs are so far above humans on the emotional evolutionary scale as to render our species advanced as amoebaes in comparison. They know intrinsically if you're happy, sad, hungry or tired, and comport themselves accordingly. They are intelligent in their own way - not our way - but the soul of a single pound hound could fill a stadium to capacity.
As I say, that's the easy reply. To leave it with that would be to avoid the truth of deeper self examination, something I view as a quest which should be constantly undertaken by all. Such being the case, I've continued to ponder the question long and hard.
By way of explanation, I spend nearly 24 hours a day with a pack of dogs, and have done so for years. In this time I've come to know their quirks and idiosyncrasies as well as they know mine. Dogs talk, maybe not with words, but with body language, sounds and behavior. The way they walk or run means one thing, the way they lie down means another. A raise of the chin, a tilt of the head, the flick of an ear, the speed of the tail wag (raised or lowered) and myriad other behavioral traits communicate their wants, needs, desires and feelings. It's really not any more tough to speak dog then it is to learn Spanish. People have walked into my house (and quickly walked out) when they found me howling in two part harmony with Boris the Malamute.
I suspect my horrible singing voice chased them off. His is quite melodious.
But, as people do, I'm ducking the question and dodging the answer. The real reason I hang with the pups is because of their blunt and forthright conduct. In the dog world, actions not only speak louder than words, they are the words.
And, this is the crux of my love for canines. Until I know a person implicitly, I judge their character solely on their actions. I've learned over the years that, until one has proven their honor and integrity, words are basically meaningless. Promises are often uttered and forgotten within the same breath. People mislead and obfuscate, depending on their mood of the moment. They can willingly lead you down the garden path, leaving you lost and stranded at the first glance of a shiny object that seems better, different, new, exciting or (usually) unobtainable and of lesser value.
Dogs might engage in the latter exercise out of sheer curiosity, but the difference between them and us is that they always come back. Unlike mere mortals, they know themselves and they know what they want. They know who and what is home, and do not give it up in a greedy, futile search for greener pastures or momentary desires. Our kind, on the other hand, will give up everything, leave on the breeze and later regret our hasty and unthought decisions. Then we will rail at the gods over our bad fortune in losing that which we willingly tossed away.
So there's the answer. I run with a pack because, in their furry culture, and out of sheer necessity and purity of heart, actions always speak louder than words. No guessing, no second guessing, no fear that the words said today will be gone tomorrow, no suspicion that the happy lick to the face will transform into fangs through the jugular.
These days, as time marches on and I see a world so often lacking in commitment, honor, compassion and integrity, I endeavor to behave more and more like my pack. I treasure those to whom I am close, will give them all that is within me, but I have zero hesitation in snapping and biting at those bereft of kindness or heart.
Oddly, it has always been a derogatory commentary in our society to say that a person has been treated like a dog. I suspect dogs have a similar saying. I'm sure they discuss this as they sprawl in the shade and consider the weighty matters of running, jumping and fetching.
"That poor fellow," they say, "he's been treated like a person."
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