Learning How to Talk Dog

Daisy's not much of a nurse. She got very annoyed when her human companion was too sick with a summer cold to get up and take her for a walk. She leaned her big nose into my face, cried a few times, snorted and then fell at the side of the bed in disgust. Kerplunk! An hour later I was out in the field, being pulled along in a daze by a happy, if somewhat anxious, Saint Bernard.

Before I accuse Daisy of lacking empathy, though, I must admit that she's right there when she suspects someone is feeling down or upset. She might run over and lean up against the unhappy party, presenting her back at about hand level for a rub. Or she might collapse at the distressed person's feet, nudging her head up against an ankle. When things really get bad, she'll press her head into the sorrowful lap, prodding a hand into action. A hug from a Saint Bernard can be very comforting.

Once I tried to test Daisy's intelligence, inspired by the instructions in a book by Stanley Coren called The Intelligence of Dogs. You're supposed to toss a towel or blanket over the poor animal's head and see how long it takes to climb out from underneath. The idea is that if you understand your dog's intelligence, you can communicate with it better. I didn't want to traumatize Daisy, so I tossed a towel just lightly over her head. She was unimpressed. She didn't move an inch. Now I know Daisy is not stupid. I regretted the test -- maybe it was culturally biased. Put Daisy in a backyard she does not prefer, and she's a veritable Houdini. So I have wondered if there is a problem with the test's underlying assumptions.

It seemed there might be better ways to get a glimpse of the animal mind. And indeed, Sheryl Carver brought by a book that offered a much more interesting -- and practical -- perspective. It's called "Talking Terms with Dogs: Calming Signals," by Turid Rugaas. Now this was more to the point! We read the whole thing in an hour. Soon Tom and I were yawning every time we spotted a dog passing in the distance. We turned to the side politely when Bailey, the black lab next door, stood at the edge of his deck and peered over. We tried licking our noses but discovered this was not in the human toolbox.

Daisy didn't yawn. But one of the next times Bailey plopped down on the deck next door, we did notice a change. She didn't stand and stare or pace back and forth crying inconsolably. Instead she looked out in the field. She sniffed with apparent interest at the lower railing, sneaking a look at him. Of course, that was a good day. Daisy will still stand and stare, cry and whine. But once in a while, she'll politely nose around the deck, maybe stealing a glance when the timing is right.