COLUMN: My Dog Has Good Taste

By Tobin Barnes
I have a dog’s vision of paradise in my house. It’s a virtual manifestation.
   
Now don’t get me wrong. I don’t believe in magic anymore, but my dog most certainly does.
   
As for me, long ago I realized that even when extraordinary things happen, there’s always a perfectly reasonable explanation, even if we don’t know what that might be when it happens. It’s kind of…oh well, someday we’ll figure out the why and the wherefore. It’s just a matter of time and science.
   
That’s not the reality my dog Molly is living, however. From her viewpoint, just about everything is miraculous. Dogs, I think, live a life of wonder, which has its negatives and its positives.
   
The negatives include Molly’s inability to rationalize the terror of thunder and lightning. These and other natural phenomena she just has to hunker down and endure, like why the heck that mean dog plagues her existence when she just wants to be friendly.
   
And the positives?
   
Well…they’re wondrous and innumerable, like a veritable host of angels. Alleluia! Those positives begin and end with humans, which, to dogs, are spiritual avatars of divinity.
   
It’s like the witticism, “A dog thinks: Hey, these people I live with feed me, love me, provide me with a nice warm, dry house, pet me, and take good care of me. They must be gods!”

But then “a cat thinks: Hey, these people I live with feed me, love me, provide me with a nice warm, dry house, pet me, and take good care of me. I must be a god!”
   
We used to have cats, but now we have a dog—maybe for self-esteem reasons. After all, as Holbrook Jackson said, “Man is a dog’s idea of what God should be.”
   
And, evidently, we’re fitting the bill.
   
Whenever we put food in her bowl, it makes our dog excited—so much so that it’s like Molly’s thinking: “Hey, that’s just what I wanted!” And when we take her for a walk, she’s absolutely thrilled and seems to be thinking, “Hey, that’s just what I wanted!” And when the gas stove comes on after it’s gotten a little chilly and Molly goes to lie in front of it, it’s kinda like, “Hey, this place is perfect. It’s just what I wanted.”
   
As an unknown author has said, “The dog is the only animal that has seen his god.”
   
To Molly, we are it—perhaps in some sort of dogmatic duality.
   
Not only that, but we provide her with intermittent visions of heaven…and that’s every time we open the refrigerator door.
   
Nirvana is right there in Molly’s glistening eyes and in her absolutely rapt worshipful devotion. As I open the door, it’s as if I have said, “Let there be light,” and there it is, displaying everything a dog could ever want.
   
But then the door closes again and the vision ends, as all visions must.
   
The door stands in the way until the gods open it again—not only the door to heaven but all those darned doors.
   
I’ll never forget the Gary Larson “Far Side” cartoon of these dog scientists dressed in lab coats (no pun intended) conducting experiments and writing mathematical equations on a blackboard trying to decipher the complexities of opening a door knob.
   
Alas, this and so much else is out of reach of dogs, but one thing most certainly is firmly in their control: bringing unconditional companionship into our lives.
   
As Samuel Butler said, “The great pleasure of a dog is that you may make a fool of yourself with him and not only will he not scold you, but he will make a fool of himself too.”
   
Amen.