by John Jefferson
It started with Beauregard, my basset hound.
After supper every evening, he would come up to me and start vocalizing “Wawk! Wawk! Wawk!” I was the one who walked him. Our family agreed he was telling me what he wanted.
Other dogs communicated in quieter ways. We were reading in bed. My wife said something playfully sassy. I popped her gently on her leg with the back of my hand. She uttered a mock “Ow!”
Our first Lab reclined at the foot of the bed and began inching toward me making a pitiful sound like something bothered her. We both understood her message. Choco didn’t want me hurting Vicky.
We were picking upriver rocks to line a flower bed one afternoon by a stream. Choco watched us putting them in the truck, and picked up a rock about the same size and brought it to the truck. Thereafter, she brought us rocks – some large ones — during every outing, wanting to help.
At the lake, Choco wouldn’t leave the water if Vicky were still in it. If Vicky were on a float, when Choco was ready to go home, she would swim around the float until Vicky grabbed her tail, and then would tow her mistress to shore!
A park employee picking up trash at the lake one day saw a submerged pizza box offshore. She would have gotten wet getting it. Choco, when directed, swam out, dove for it, and brought it to the grateful lady.
Home from a successful hunt one afternoon, I was too tired to skin a deer and an aoudad sheep. I needed a nap. I leashed Choco next to the game and told her to guard them – and not eat them! After my nap, I found her dutifully lying by the critters, having not even investigated the few drops of blood that had dripped from the deer hanging beside her.
Another Lab – “Pilo” – was with me on a hunt in frigid weather. I had backed the truck up close to the cabin to keep her as warm as possible in strong wind. I checked on her at bedtime, but she just stared at the window into the cabin instead of looking at me. I understood, and took her inside, violating camp rules. She gratefully slept beside my bunk.
Dog Rescue had pups in a pen for adoption. The dogs were at the far end being petted by children. A handsome hound looked back at me and left the group and came to me, as if saying, “What took you so long?” He had chosen ME! And I understood.
Named “Whoop!”, he was sensitive about anyone touching his long, stunningly curled tail. Our three-year-old granddaughter began petting him. He seemed to trust her, knowing he was to allow her more liberties. She even put her “dress-up” necklaces around his neck and even on his tail. The look on his face said “This is what I do.”
And they say dogs can’t talk.
JJ
