I took Jake for a walk this morning, and it struck me that if it weren’t for him, I might be invisible in this new place. And if it weren’t for other dogs, the people at the ends of their leashes would remain part of the faceless crowd for me as well. Our dogs barrel through all this reluctance to connect; they invariably stop and greet each other. Their lonely humans are then forced to stop and face each other with a smile, a nod, maybe a few words. After a few such encounters, we start recognizing each other’s dogs, and eventually, each other. The reticence dissolves, and we become part of each other’s community.
I confess to a ridiculous thought: When I first moved here and took Jake for a walk, I wondered whether dogs that were trained to respond to different human languages would still be able to understand each other in doggy language. Would a Canadian dog understand a German dog? Silly, I know. I guess I was so pre-occupied with not being able to communicate in words, I forgot that they aren’t always necessary to get the job done. In fact, they sometimes get in the way.
So when I read this article by an Arab-American who writes about people’s reactions to his new puppy, I was very touched:
I noticed something new was happening out there, something Arab-Americans have rarely experienced since Sept. 11. People on the street, in their cars, in the parking lot, and at the supermarket were giving me a new look—a friendly one.
Interesting how an animal can give us a human face.
POLLENATRIX 