A friend on FB shared this article from the NYT on why we talk to our dogs (if you don't have a paid subscription, this will be one of your limited free articles this month, just so you know) and it touches on a subject I've given a fair bit of thought to over the years, at least obliquely.
My friends know I'm not wild about the anthropomorphism of pets. We all know it's a personal quirk, and I'm not judging them for doing it, just saying it's not my cup of tea. Some of my good chums happily post dog news in the first-canine-person, and these are popular and fun I am sure. You know, if you like that sort of thing.
I find it... creepy. That's probably kinda weird, but I just do. So on the back of this piece about us talking to our dogs, maybe it's time to talk about why.
First of all, I have no problem with us talking to our dogs, in the various ways as described in this article. I did it all the time with my dogs, I do it with friends' dogs, I do it with strangers' dogs. Just this morning I said hello to a passing strange dog. Not the owner the dog, the dog. I get it. I had conversations with my dogs on all sorts of subjects, not just their behaviour or the current activity, and using language I never expected them to understand. I did expect them to get the tone of voice though. Dogs are bright, they'll pick up on if you're praising or scolding, they'll get the key words in a long sentence telling them exactly how bad they've been and they'll appreciate the tone of doting praise as you scratch behind their ears for being the bestest boy ever, who's a very good boy den?
But the thing is, when I'm saying all that, it's just as internal monologue made louder. I'm still really talking to me. When I suggest "yes, you like that don't you? yes you know how clever you are", I'm not pretending to read the dog's mind, or hear their voice in my head; I'm interpreting their canine body-language and taking a pretty good guess. We know how dogs behave, they do consistently doggy things in predictably doggy ways.
So I have two problems with the first-person-canine thing, one is touched on here, as I say; it's the dressing up of one's personal monologue as something external, and then sharing it publicly. It's taking an internal process and externalising it. Now there's times, I'll grant you, when that probably should be done more - but a discussion of mental health and openness around depression and anxiety is probably a deeper conversation for another day - telling me how you think your dog feels about you, and pretending the dog said it? Not so much. And you know how people do that? They make the dog refer to "my human". Which is weird, because they never refer to Fred, or Spot, or Wrath of Mars as "my dog", they use their names. But apparently they don't think they deserve that level of respect from their dog. Oh, unless their dog calls them Poppa, or something, which shows you a whole other aspect of their relationship I didn't need to know (don't get me started on fur-babies).
The second part is, it disrespects the damn dog. By taking a dog, any dog, and anthropomorphising it, they make it less of a dog. They take a fantastic beast, a clever, loyal, loving animal and they strip away a little of it's dogness, and apply a veneer of pseudo-humanity. They make it a sub-human, not a super-dog. Dogs do dog things, and they do them better than anything else on the planet. They are absolutely the best at being dogs. And a dog is a remarkably fine thing, to be celebrated in all its canine glory. It doesn't need a costume, or a speech bubble or pretend anything... it's a dog. So talk to your dog. Your dog will enjoy it. You will enjoy it. Just please don't tell me what it said back.
You don't agree, I know, it's fine. Personal quirk. This is just me over-sharing, but at least I'm not blaming it on the dog.
