The SPU and Other Built-In Features of Dogs

Posted on January 23, 2009 in Dogs

Biologists who insist that there are biological bases for behavior have nearly made a convert of me. Since adopting Drake, our Boston Terrier, last May, I’ve observed that there are things which make him distinctly doggy as opposed to our catty felines.

Superficially there are the diet issues: Drake eats just about everything including things that are bad for him. Cats, on the other hand, eat very little outside of their narrow fare. If I am eating chocolate, for example, Fiona and Boadicea very willingly accept my declaration that it is cat poison ((Which is true.)) . Drake, on the other hand, persists even when I explain to him that I am undertaking this eating so that he won’t have to. He plops his butt on the floor and gives me a soulful look, his ears perked up so he doesn’t miss a single sensory clue that might betray a falling morsel.

He pogos for biscuits. When I give him larger treats, he chomps them down in seconds. He treats his food as a gas and inhales it. On walks, I sometimes have to drag him away from mystery spots and odd bits.

There are other peculiarities. Of course no self-respecting cat allows herself to be placed on a leash. Drake rejoices and dances on his hind legs whenever I reach for his lead and harness. We have arrived at an accord on how fast we go — Drake is an enthusiastic runner and I can keep up for short bursts. Lawns suffer mightily when he stops: he scatches and kicks until I have to warn him off tearing up clods of turf.

Then there is the Enemy, a border collie named Oreo. Oreo’s owner and I are on good terms. Our dogs have it in for one another. When Drake sees Oreo, he assumes the Stance. The backend goes down. The front ones click straight. He begins barking maniacally. Oreo turns into The Hound of the Baskervilles except he doesn’t glow. We owners yank at their leads and shout at them to hush. With a great deal of coaxing, we pull them out of sight of each other ((In a similar vein, we have discovered that he just loves making love with comely she-terriers and beagles. One out of three emasculated dogs continues to hold a torch for the opposite sex. Admonitions such as “You’re fixed!” never seem to curb his appetites.)) .

You must never show weakness in the face of the Enemy, Drake tells me. I tell him to get a life.

The most interesting feature he possesses is what I call the Self-Punishing Unit or SPU. Every few days, Drake does a naughty. He poops on the floor. He finds a plastic pen or pill bottle, then proceeds to chew on it. Or he pulls a coat off the back of a chair and sleeps on it.

“Drrr-rake!” I’ll say in a loud, insidious voice. And the SPU goes into operation. First, the ears go back and lock into place. Second, the eyes, bulge slightly and assume a worried look. The head hangs down. His little stub of a tail would droop, too, if it were not paralyzed. Then, carrying his body as low as it will go and still allow him to move, he slinks off to his dog bed where he remains, trembling, for the next hour or so ((Classic video of the behavior here.)) .

Everyone who owns a cat knows how they respond. “Excuse me?” “I didn’t do that. I don’t know who did.” “Yadda yadda yadda.” “Go fuck yourself.” And “OK, if you’re going to lose it, I’m LEAVING! (And I may not come back.)” But they always do.

As I write this, Drake sits at my feet, hoping that the bag of potato chips I have just finished isn’t empty. A few minutes ago, Fiona insisted on standing in my lap, purring loud enough to be picked up by my webcam mic. It’s an odd community that forms when sentient and semi-sentient beings cohabitate. Drake has taught me much about the ways of dogs. I just wish I had been handed an instruction manual. Just how do I deal with his chewing the pens?