Lulu is a 2 year old Basset Hound that will not walk.
She’s happy enough to have the leash put on and to go out the door. Her ears swing as she descends the stairs, she pauses to sniff the air, her tail waves in slow undulations, and then, hold everything, her enormous paws touch the grass.
She collapses into a warm, giddy, writhing carpet of upside-down Basset, freckled belly pointing skyward, lips flayed and shining, eyes closed in ecstasy. No amount of cajoling, leash-tugging, treat-offering, or other urgent forms of human encouragement will budge her.
I kind of pride myself on being able to get 99.9% of dogflesh moving, on a loose leash, nose at the seam of pants, focusing on me, trotting at my pace around the neighborhood. Lulu is my walking failure. She resists, no, she steamrolls, my fruitless efforts. I haven’t given up on her yet but Lord knows I’ve had many a moment where I wondered who was going to lie down first – her or me.
Why do dogs DO that?
Is it in a dog’s nature to want to roll in the grass, even when a walk is in offing? Why do dogs make a beeline for our special guest’s crotch? What makes dogs sniff and search and inspect and sniff again, for just the right place to deposit a sprinkle of precious urine, while we stand shivering in the early morning hours, hunched over in resigned submission at the other end of the leash? What is so intriguing about a used Kleenex that it just has to be shredded and ingested?
I’m looking forward to exploring some of these age-old questions – and more – with you at the Paws for a Cause event on Saturday, April 4, where I will represent the Times Union with a talk on “Why Does My Dog Do That?” If you have some questions about the strange and curious behavior of dogs, let me know.
See you at the Empire State Plaza!