The Gulf is Wide

Animals form an important part of the life and history of the human race.  Our relationships with them have taken many forms, and one of the most complex and interesting variations has been that of our relationship with pets.

Many people think that the earliest of those pet/helpers/companions were dogs - and yes, I know that some will say that cats were worshiped in certain places, long ago, but offering a feline deity food to appease it is different to sharing the table scraps with your canine friend.  Dogs turn up in human history in many ways, for good or ill, and our influence on dogs has been complex and far-ranging; just look at how many breeds of dogs now exist around the planet - between 200 and 400 'recognized breeds' depending who you ask, plus around 36 different species of wild dog.

Of course, people's attitude to animals - and in this case, let us specifically consider dogs - can vary from complete infatuation, through utalitarian, on to disdain, and, finally, phobic.  It would be fair to say that people from one group do not really understand people from the other groups.

The doting dog lover cannot understand how anyone could not love as they do, while the non dog lover cannot understand how anyone could let one inside their clean house, let alone on their bed, and as for kissing the dog, or letting it lick one's face - the shudder of horror that such a thought brings about would register on a seismograph.

It is one of the great divides that runs through the human race.  On one side are those people who cannot imagine living without the joy and pleasures brought to them by their pet.  On the other, are those who can live quite well without animal companions, and though happy to admire other people's dogs or cats or canarys, and even pat them, cannot imagine sharing their living quarters with any sort of animal - the gulf is wide.

Richard Glover's recent article about his past and present dogs lauded and waxed sentimental about the dogs in his life - past and present - as well as examining such feelings in other dog owners and their dogs, as far afield as Odysseus and Argo in The Odyssey.  There is no doubt that the company of a beloved dog is of great value to the owner, and the dog seems to gain much from the company of its human.  Likewise, companion and therapy dogs - not to mention guide dogs - are of great benefit to the humans in their lives.

There are times when dog and owner are not in the same place.  When the owner has gone to the office, or the shops, or on holidays, and the dog is left home, alone.  Some dogs seem to view this time as an opportunity to catch up on their sleep, to sunbake in peace, or, if they are young, to find all the things left outside that might need a good chewing.  Do they care that their owner is absent?  Are they happy to have some time to themselves?  Do they understand the daily routine of their masters, so that they are able to abide secure in the knowledge of the inevitable return of their human companions?

Many dogs, though, do not seem to understand their human's daily routine, and mark the absence of their master by howling, barking, or yapping constantly, beginning shortly their after departure, and ceasing just prior to their return - calling for their missing owner to come home and deal with all the threats the dog feels beset by during that absence.

Domestic bliss and neighbourhood peace returns with those absent owners, and the evenings pass routinely into the quiet of night, as the last blue flickers vanish from windows across the town, and sleep descends on the populace - two legs and four legs alike.

As the hours of darkness flow across the roof tops and swirl round the houses, nature is taking its course.  Sooner or later, bladders fill, dreams become restless, and people awake.  The four legged one may wake first and come snuffling and whimpering to their owner's bedside at 3am.  The beneficiary of all that canine affection will stumble from bed to door, let the dog out, and close the door behind it, before shuffling back to the bedroom.

The dog, having done its business, is now at leisure to notice all the little sounds and scents that inhabit the wee small hours of the night, as the possums, foxes, cats, bats, insects, frogs, and night birds go about their nocturnal duties.  Having noticed all those things happening out there in the darkness, in territory that, by daylight, belongs to them, the dog has no choice but to sound the alarm - loudly, urgently, even hysterically.

The owners seem oblivious to the cacophony, or are trying to ignore it by diving deeper into the depths of their doona, or clamping pillows to their ears.  It won't work, and they must know it, but they keep trying, until the dog begins scratching at the door that it knows must eventually open and admit it to the warm security of its owner's presence.

As the flakes of paint fall to the veranda boards, the gouges in the timber work grow deeper, and the dog's complaints grow ever more urgent, the owner finally admits that sleep will only be possible if the dog is allowed back inside. That chore done, he or she returns to the warm depths of slumber, secure in the knowledge that their dog is snoring at the foot of, side of, or even on top of, the bed - or the owner.

But the dogless people living nearby cannot be certain that is the case, and, while trying desperately to snatch another couple of hours sleep before the alarm calls them to breakfast and the morning commute, wait in a state of alert tension for the next explosion of canine angst - if not from that dog, then from the one across the road that, woken by the first dog, is even now prevailing upon its owner to let it out for walkies, and its own encounter with the terrors of the night.

The dogless person knows that there is no malice in the heart of the dog, and feels that it is most likely that the same can be said of the dog owner, and so will most likely operate on the principle of  "least said, soonest mended" while fervently hoping that one day the owner will break down only a few blocks from home and have to walk back to the house, thus learning first hand what their dog really thinks of their absence. 

The gulf truly is wide, and unlikely ever to be bridged.