Comfortably ensconced in his new Georgia habitat, Buddy has made lots of new friends. Actually, he doesn't have any enemies (ok, there's Tiger the German Shepherd that gives him the evil eye on the Silver Comet Trail in the mornings, and the doggies that bark behind fences they never leave). But, Bud truly loves all doggies. I mean frantic tail wagging and glassy eyes at the sight or sniff of a high tailed Bella or Wheeler or Delilah or Annie or Bailey well . . . . you get the picture.
Better yet, Bud can fantasize about future encounters while snorting for Eau 'd Doggie through the low hanging leaves of bushes and even lower grass fronds. Bud's dog2dog encounters are full of sniffing all over and then more sniffing followed by the front leg bow with a bark of delight hoping the new doggie will do the same and play and play and play. O the rassling, running, jumping and sounds of dogs at play. And, Bud has never ignored a dog because of color, breed, gender, length of hair, parentage or sexual ability. Nope, this guy is an equal opportunity player and friend.
Too bad the world of the people with the logic and rational thought and, who actually know they will die some day, can't like and play with people that are not like them. Bud assumes he will live forever and still loves every dog. I know I will die one day and in the meantime cannot possibly apologize to all the people I have ignored, disliked and marginalized because they were from a different tribe than my tribe.
Of course tribes are big in the Bible, such as the 12 tribes of Israel. Yet, everyone belongs to at least one tribe and most of us to several tribes. You see, I was born into the American, southern, male, conservative, caucasian tribe but later also joined the protestant, professional, progressive, mid-western,nuclear family tribe. Today, I am also a proud member of the southern, retired, grandparenting, dog walking tribal community. And, assuredly, some day these tribal affiliations won't mean a thing. All that time wasted.
Monday, March 17, 2014
Why Dogs Can See Through the Fog and Sometimes We Can't
As a five year old neutered Lab you'd think Bud's procreative instincts would wane. Yet, upon the excitement of a new friend (or even some long time friends) his excited exuberances lean toward disfavored social behavior as in "I love you so much I want a copy of me." Bud can be forgiven because . . . well . . . he's a male dog. And male dogs sometimes have feral instincts even after being divested of necessary equipment. In a nutshell, dogs do what dogs have always done . . . keep the species moving forward.
Unfortunately, their human counterparts haven't learned much since the procreative command "to be fruitful and multiply" came from on high. Finally, after thousands of years human males are able to produce more copies than those that die. And, after those thousands of years we've developed rules of the road that allow us to function as a moderately successful society. Such as, don't pick your teeth at the dinner table and one spouse at at time. Yet very smart and famous dudes who should know better and (as my mother would say) "can't help themselves" continually "embareass" our species.
Must be the fog. You know the fog of war, the fog of campaigns, the fog of booze or drugs and "whatever's new in the office" fog. It's getting to where even fog gets a bad name. Now men, mostly, have had fogs overcome them for centuries. David was consumed by the Bathsheban Fog, Anthony by the Cleopatran fog and Tom Jefferson by the easypickings fog.
Good news! Now, there's treatment for fog and, well, everything else that tends to get men into trouble.
Yet, there's a much simpler cure for fog. Dogs know this. Their mothers taught them. In fact, dog moms teach their pups all they need to know . . . in about eight weeks!
Unfortunately, their human counterparts haven't learned much since the procreative command "to be fruitful and multiply" came from on high. Finally, after thousands of years human males are able to produce more copies than those that die. And, after those thousands of years we've developed rules of the road that allow us to function as a moderately successful society. Such as, don't pick your teeth at the dinner table and one spouse at at time. Yet very smart and famous dudes who should know better and (as my mother would say) "can't help themselves" continually "embareass" our species.
Must be the fog. You know the fog of war, the fog of campaigns, the fog of booze or drugs and "whatever's new in the office" fog. It's getting to where even fog gets a bad name. Now men, mostly, have had fogs overcome them for centuries. David was consumed by the Bathsheban Fog, Anthony by the Cleopatran fog and Tom Jefferson by the easypickings fog.
Good news! Now, there's treatment for fog and, well, everything else that tends to get men into trouble.
- Just Twittered a picture of yourself shirtless or pantless?
- Fathered a child by your aide or maid? Texted or sexted too much information to people who didn't want to know?
- Took a 3,000 mile vacation detour to comfort your new soulmate?
- Just have a wide stance?
- The fog defense is "I'm taking a leave of absence and seeking treatment" when everyone else wants them to say "I've taken a leave of my senses and I'm resigning to spend the rest of my life raising organic baby food and seeking a cure for stupidity." Nobody will miss you and our collective embarrassment quotient will be greatly reduced.
Yet, there's a much simpler cure for fog. Dogs know this. Their mothers taught them. In fact, dog moms teach their pups all they need to know . . . in about eight weeks!
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