Yes, Master

Declan is a dog. I think four legs, a tail, and that distinctive canine outline prove that. But now and then I have to wonder if he’s not just wearing a disguise. Either we don’t give dogs enough IQ credit, or they have been putting one over on us for centuries. I lean toward the latter.

Declan got mail yesterday, for the first time in his life. I fear it will not be the last time. Following this successful and fulfilling experience, I think he’s going to be ordering online, buying from catalogs, watching the shopping channel at night after I’m asleep---and I’m hiding my credit card, next time he’s safely out of sight visiting the outhouse.

I picked up a small package from the post office, actually addressed to him by an admirer, along with a larger one for me. I x-rayed mine to be sure it wasn’t ticking, but no one hates Declan. Once home, there were things to put away, chores to do—I set the two on the floor by my chair and didn’t get to them until later that night.

At that point I needed my box knife to open them, and spent five minutes unsuccessfully prowling my junk drawer looking for it. As insane people usually do, I muttered to Declan the whole time about my inability to open the packages if I didn’t find that tool. He was patient with my search, which eventually paid off, but that patience disappeared when I sat down to do the box-surgery.

I picked up his prize first, holding it down in front of him, pointing out his name on the front, explaining that said D-E-C-L-A-N, even underlining the name as I drove the point home. (I warned you, insanity runs in the family---makes us very well adjusted to the modern world.) He closely followed all this. Apparently dogs read with their noses, because he spent extra time sniffing his name, so he’d recognize it next encounter.

He does this insistent nose-push when he wants me to open something for him. This package, being all his, got so nose-pushed he nearly had it opened by himself. Dogs are convinced people do not move fast enough---the shorter life-span thing I guess---and he was so busy urging me onward I could hardly hang onto the envelope to tear it open. If I’d needed the knife, he’d have lost an eye. He then switched the push to the gap and was getting quite cross with my slow progress. I triumphantly pulled out a double-package of Dentabones, and wanted to discuss how wonderful it was to get a treat by mail. He was having none of it. The focus of the nose-push now changed to the inner package and became even more frantic.

I tried to open it, but modern science has created packages that only open for those who are bent on contaminating them. I used the line Declan has heard too many times before: It won’t open--I can’t get into this. That did it. He visibly said, “To heck with the disguise, my treat is in there, and I am not putting up with any more of your obtuse interference.” Stopping his nose attack, he threw me that disgusted look that said it all, looked up at the table where the box-knife waited unused, and curtly nose-pushed the sealed pack one more time. The clear message? “You wasted valuable time hunting that thing up, brought it over here for opening things---USE IT! stupid.”

Chastised, I did as ordered. I watched him spirit it away to the darkest, tightest corner of the room, to pulverize it in seclusion--and a chill traced my spine. If dogs had thumbs, we might find ourselves sleeping on a pallet next to their beds.