Carrie Classon
Sometimes, I am the treat lady on my walks, and sometimes I do not carry dog treats. I love dispensing treats, but I hate getting turned down by owners. Getting turned down by dogs is also disappointing, but somehow easier to take.
So lately instead of bribing dogs with treats, I’ve been doing my secret whistle, a high-pitched noise that dogs always hear and their owners usually do not, that makes the dog look my way. Then I tell the dog what a beautiful dog they are, and they usually come running over to me, and I delay whoever was trying to take them for a walk while we talk, and almost always, that person does not care.
I rub the dog’s ears, and I scratch their nose, and sometimes they throw themselves on the sidewalk and I scratch their belly.
“You are such a good dog! Aren’t you just a perfect dog?” I ask them. And the dogs agree that I am correct—they are all perfect dogs.
Sometimes their owners disagree. “Oh, I wouldn’t say she’s perfect.” And they may start talking about some totally inconsequential things the dog has done involving an expensive shoe or a piece of furniture or the cat—something that has no bearing whatsoever on the conversation.
The dog will look at me as I continue to scratch her ears, and she will know that I realize the owner is just being humble. They don’t want to claim to be the owner of a perfect dog, and I understand.
“So she’s 99.5% perfect,” I reply, and usually the owner seems to think this is a little generous, but it’s somewhere in the ballpark.
But I have had owners who, when I told them their dog was perfect, agreed wholeheartedly. I think they must have a very good relationship with their dog.
“Oh! Isn’t he a perfect dog?” I’ll say.
“Yes, he pretty much is,” the owner will reply and shrug, as if they are not quite sure how they were fortunate to adopt—out of all the imperfect dogs in the world—the one perfect one. The dog never pretends he is not perfect. What would be the point of that? The dog nuzzles his owner and nuzzles my hand and lets me know that even perfect dogs have time to chitchat on the sidewalk.
So I have not felt the need to carry treats. Lavish compliments, small talk, and lots of ear scratching seem to do just as well, and I don’t run afoul of special diets and concerns that a dog might be “putting on weight,” which is a myth that veterinarians spread, probably just so they can get more business.
Eventually, I say goodbye to the dog, and I thank the owner for letting me delay them on their walk, and I head off down the sidewalk. “You have a new best friend!” some of them say. And some of the dogs look back at me, a little disappointed that we are not all continuing the walk together.
I had a dog for years and I miss having a dog. As much as I love my cat, Felix, there is something about a dog that pulls on my heartstrings. But having a dog is not practical for us right now. And so every day, I get my dose of dog. And while I may be holding things up for a minute or two, I don’t think anyone is worse off for the time we spend together.
Till next time,
Carrie
