I just walked into the room where the dog has found a sock and is perusing it thoughtfully. I think it is one of Phil’s socks. I am not sure whether or not it is fresh.
The dog becomes increasingly eccentric in these darker months, when his walks shrink to one good one and a supplementary evening domestic potter. His little muscles long to pelt headlong up an almost 90 degree incline. Standing still becomes rather a charged business.
Phil walked in, fresh from London, this evening, having stopped at the kitchen first. He held a stuffed baked potato: a crisp outer shell filled with rather luscious cheddar and ham mash, browned in the oven.
At Phil’s feet was Macaulay the dog, looking for all the world like he had been plugged into the mains, charging gently, for hours.
Somehow, at some primeval level, the dog knew that mash had possibilities. It could, with the right persuasion, slip gently out of the potato skin and land with a satisfying ‘flup’ in the jaws of a waiting terrier.
All this, I read from the think bubble which emanated from the cranium of Macaulay the dog.
Contrast this scene, if you will, with one an hour earlier,when it was time to put the dog’s meal in his great big tin bowl. It’s a new dry mixture.
The dog took a sniff.
And then he turned around, looked at me, his ears in a triangle, and resumed his campaign, as though there were nothing in his bowl at all.
Every mealtime I fill his bowl: every mealtime he ignores it almost completely. It is simply not what he ordered. Some time during the day it usually disappears. Of course, that might be the cat.
And still, in the cupboard, lurks a very big bag of dog food indeed.
They have us well-trained, these creatures. And the evidence shows they have done for round about 10,000 years. Indeed it may be as many as 15.000 years ago that the first gray wolf sized up the man of the cave and his nice warm fire and decided to negotiate a dual entente.
But no-one can agree on how, or precisely when, wolves crossed that feral line to become one of the family.
Some biologists and archaeologists theorise that man domesticated the gray wolf, and its genes changed according to its new lifestyle. Others insist the dog evolved into something different before padding over man’s threshold.
I love the picture they paint of wolves who liked the look of the rubbish dumps of the time, situated on the outskirts of human settlements: and subtly, the doggie genetics got to work, evolution favouring the four-leggeds who were less inhibited, and would dare to venture further towards the scraps.
The cheese and ham mash of their time, if you will.
Plus ca change: plus c’est la meme chose.
Dogs have been in our company for millennia now: one academic has argued they are part of what make us human. Professor Paul Tacon wrote an article for Nature Australia entitled Dogs Make Us Human.
He argues they would have been useful because of those faculties we lack: the keenest of hearing and perception, and awareness of a smellscape of which we can only dream. They came with us on the hunt, and sat around our fire, looking up at the first whisper of a predator and sounding an early alarm.
There is an expression: Aboriginal? Inuit? “It’s a three-dog night”- which means it’s exceptionally cold. Curl up with three dogs and you have your own ready-made heating system.
But more than anything else, their body language is peerless. They carry out their day-to-day communications without the need for words.
We know when Macaulay is fraught, and why; when he is excited, and how; we know when he is grinning, and the source of his every triumph. There is little he cannot communicate to a human.
What a consummate linguist.
They have a thing called social cognition: they encode, store, retrieve and process information about others in their species rather well. And it seems this may be a transferable skill: for they read us like a book.
It has always been thus, and they have been our partners for aeons: which may explain why in 2008, in a cosy Belgian cave called Goyet, they dug up a large toothy canine dated at 31,700 years old, who had dined on horse, musk ox and reindeer.
As I type, the dog is snoring happily next to his sock. While he never achieved any of the holy grail that was the ham and cheese mash, he has had a dark chilly walk down a forest park, and all is well in his doggy world.
The partnership works well for him, I think.
The picture source today is a rhyton – an Ancient Greek drinking vessel from the 5th century BC. Its source is here.
Kate Shrewsday 
Wonderful post explaining our good friend the dog (what I wonder would explain the cat 😉 – it was a twenty cat night – brrrrrr!). It must drive dogs nuts smelling all that great food we cook, and having it just out of reach (unless some big softy caves in).
Which, in this house, they invariably do, Gabrielle 😀
I can’t say I blame him for turning up his nose: DRY dog food? Poor Macaulay!
Oh, Earlybird, if we gave him wet we would be in for a whole world of olfactory discomfort.
hmmm… I understand both points of view but regret to say I think I have more sympathy with Macaulay. Dry dog food indeed!! 😉
*whispers so that earlybird wont hear* Lulubelle and Diski also get dry food …
😀
Poor dog, he really does suffer so in winter.
An interesting result of breeding arctic foxes in Russia was that the ones most friendly to humans slowly changed their coat colour over generations, making them not what was wanted for the fur, but possibly expolaining quite a lot of how the dog look changes in contact with humans.
Cats worked out humans needed gods, that was why they condescended to become friends 😉
😀 You have that right, Sidey. Kit Kat knows we are all inferior, but she condescends to spend time with us anyway. That is fascinating about arctic foxes – I had no idea!
like he had been plugged into the mains – I can picture that – great imagery
I’ll let you in on a secret, Carl: occasionally, I look like that too.
Actually, on a fairly regular basis.
What a wonderful source of inspiration is Macaulay – love this sentence – At Phil’s feet was Macaulay the dog, looking for all the world like he had been plugged into the mains, charging gently, for hours. The Greek drinking vessel is exquisite, the dogs expression perceptively captured.
Isn’t it, Rosemary? I knew you’d appreciate that. If something like that bounded up to me in the forest he would be incredibly familiar.
I may have asked you before, Kate, but, have you read Racing in the Rain? You must. It is told through the point of a view of a dog who, of course, cannot speak aloud. It is funny and gentle and a good bit of work to spend some time with. Audio? Macaulay may even sit at your feet, sock nearby, dreaming of mash. This was another great post and great way to start my day.
Must chase up the audio version, Penny – it sounds a gem, but I haven’t got close to reading it yet! I must!
Thanks for another super Macaulay insight, Kate! 😀
He has many more squirelled away in his basket, Denise.
MTM used to give Jazz dry food with “seasoning” – bacon grease. Of course, she inhaled those feasts.
I love the description of Macaulay with a think box sprouting above his head. That really is how dogs are. It made me smile.
Bacon grease: great tip. Of course: it would render even the grimmest chow irresistible…thanks, Andra!
I’m reading with a pug noisily warming my feet, he in turn piled up against his retriever (She is his, you know. He’s well aware we acquired her for him.). A two-dog-morning here in New England. He is snoring his approval. He knows he is ancient and special and far better at expressing himself than I.
Just for a moment, there I was with you, Cameron. I imagine pugs are definite souls. It’s those little noises which make them such great companions..to me, today, this sounded the perfect morning.
I can just see him ignoring the food and then eating it surreptitiously behind your back! I hate wet cat food and so the new fur ball of fire has to get used to the biscuits…. and its all to do with smell!
We are just the same, Pseu. Healthier for your cat because it gets to drink the right amount of water for its little kidneys…is that right? Just adore the new addition to your household: and the beautiful pictures you have taken.
better for the teeth too, I believe.
I reckon it’s all down to body language and titbits Kate
Dad
I think titbits are at the root of all attachment, Dad 😀
It’s been a few years since our little terrier mix went to doggie heaven, but I remember even going through a phase of making homemade dog food. A friend gave me a recipe and mixed and did my best to make it seem appealing, not really because she needed it, but I think I needed to feel better about my own perceptions of what is edible. Silly, now that I think of it! I look forward to a change in our lives to make room for canine companionship! While I wait for that opening I enjoy my brother’s three dogs, and I swear they can say more with their eyes than many people say with words. I enjoy Macaulay, Kate. It doesn’t surprise me that you have an interesting dog! Debra
I don’t know how we came by him, Debra: once he arrived it was as if he had always been there. All the best as you look for the right dog: what a joy they are.
Great post, Kate and a totally stunning image. What kind of owner are you, offering him only DOG food? As a member of the family, he obviously expects family food. Disgraceful! 😉
I agree completely with the accomplished canine body language. My last dog, Roly, could even communicate exasperation when my mother deliberately pretended not to know what he was getting at. He would go and place a paw on her lap to get her attention, then turn and walk up to the cupboard and stand “pointing” at it with his nose. Occasionally looking round to check if she was watching. No prizes for guessing that was the biscuit cupboard!
Roly was so clever, Jan! It never ceases to amaze me what dogs can do. Great best friends, really.
Love it! Our furry friends adapt to us . . . and encourage us to adapt to them. 😀
Quite: it’s a two-way street, Nancy.
I can’t wait to have a dog. Once I’m done with college probably and get my own place I can probably get a furry friend. In the meantime I just spend a lot of time with my neighbor’s dogs, which is a lot of fun too. I enjoy walking them and playing frisbee and what not. 🙂 They always make me laugh and cheer me up.
They do, don’t they, Brittany? Dogs just seem to bring our the positive in life.
What a fine canine life Macauley has! I’m sure he goes about in a state of bliss. This was such a wonderful homage to him and all our doggie friends.
Lovely post, Kate. Wanted to ask – who is Macaulay named after?
Watched a wonderful doco hosted by Martin Clunes (love his childlike sense of wonder in things) the other night on different types of canines and their relationships with humans. It included a segment on Dinky the Dingo – the clip of Martin with him is not available on the internet, but this will give you an idea of Dinky’s talents –
ROFL I love Dinky to bits. Macaulay was a bit uncertain though: he’s looking at me with extreme disapproval.To answer your question, we did not name Macaulay: he arrived with us at the ripe old age of one year from a rescue, already tagged for life.