Human and animal perception, particularly as it relates to the same event, always fascinates me and last night’s events gave me a good example of this. It’s been extremely hot and humid, the kind of heat and humidity that has me leaving key pieces of clothing at strategic locations so I can grab them and put them on as I race between the office and the front door if someone arrives unexpectedly. Because the nights are also exceptionally hot and humid, I dragged the large fan out of the closet, aimed it right at the bed, and turned it on. This simple, what I considered benevolent act toward human and animal alike set into motion a set of events that made me a bit wiser as well as in need of sleep.
It began when Ollie–who is back in his crate on the bench at the foot of the bed following a bout of house-training amnesia–began whimpering pitifully, his response to anything unfamiliar. Then Frica went back and forth between the bench and rug a few times, probably weighing the consequences of trying to sleep on the bench in the breeze, but next to her whiney son vs. moving to the rug away from said whiney offspring where it was hotter. I ignored them both and Ollie soon quieted and Fric soon fell asleep on the bench beside him.
As usual, BeeBee offered the most in the way of surprises. The first was that the fan didn’t bother her at all when I turned it on. She merely positioned herself on the bed to take full advantage of it once I made it clear that I did not welcome her 101.5-degree hairy body plastered against mine under these tropical circumstances. She soon fell asleep and I foolishly congratulated myself for shepherding all of the dogs through this novel event.
I don’t mention the cat here because Whit doesn’t even deign to come upstairs when it’s so hot. Instead, he spends most of his time in the basement except for a few forays outside. If I could figure out how to do it, I’d be there myself. As I’ve mentioned before, the house is very old by American standards with the core of it dating back to the 1700s. One wall of the basement is of dry-stone construction. That is, there’s no mortar between the stones. This allows a steady flow of air from the soil around it. It takes a prolonged string of abnormally hot days for the temperature in the basement to get above 70-degrees (F) in the summer. Anyone with any brains would spend their time there if they could, which is why the cat does. The dogs probably would too, but the stairs are so steep they won’t even try to use them, and look at me like I’m demented every time I do.
Returning to the bedroom where the fan is circulating the soupy air, once before I fell asleep Bee suddenly sprang into full alertness and started alarm barking, setting the other two off, and introducing me to a problem I’d never encountered before. Normally, an added benefit of fans or air conditioners for pet-owners is that they block sounds that normally would alert the animals. But when one is blessed with a deaf dog with an incredible sense of smell, it turns out that a fan also is capable of sucking in a lot of scents from outside that would not have made it in otherwise.
From a physiological and Understanding-BeeBee point of view, this was very enlightening. In terms of getting sleep, it was not. During the night, Bee went through this routine 3 times, although by the third time the other two dogs ceased to respond. I, of course, woke like a shot every time and had visions of serial killers creeping up the stairs or some substance-abuser stealing the voice recorder I finally figured out how to use that I’d left on the kitchen table. And each time I decided I was so hot, sticky and tired that death couldn’t be much worse and went back to sleep.
But even though I did take a cavalier approach to Bee’s warning while I was in bed, that all changed when I took the dogs out the next morning when it was still dark. For the first time, Bee refused to move from my side. And either because she didn’t or because the other dogs could now smell what she did, they refused to move, too.
So here’s the dilemma, Animal-lovers. You have three dogs, one whose sphincter control is marginal under the best of circumstances, one who is brain-damaged, and one who is not above harassingly you interminably to let her out if she has to go, all of whom have not eliminated in 8 hours. Do you try to coax them to move off at least the minimal aesthetically acceptable distance from the house to do so? Or do you say, “Hey, no prob. Obviously something’s out here that’s bothering you. Let’s go back inside” ?
My primitive aversion to cleaning up animal waste in my nightgown is so strong that it unfortunately overcame my higher brain function. I moved confidently into the darkness and called the pets who then, somewhat reluctantly, followed. However, while I’m waiting in the dark for them and watching Bee’s collar flash nearby like a mutant firefly, memories of the black bear and moose who once occupied the very same space I did at about that same early morning time came back to me. (Why is so easy to remember the things I want to forget and so hard to remember the things I want to?) These thoughts immediately caused me to realize that maybe the dogs were right and that we should get the hell back into the house asap. That’s when I discovered that I’d done such a good job of communicating confidence to the dogs that they decided to do a meticulous molecule-by-molecule analysis of the area looking for The Perfect Spot to urinate and defecate. Or so I thought.
Just about the time I was ready to turn on my flashlight and turn myself into mosquito fodder to reinforce my, I admit, softly hissed rather than commanding, “Come here this instant!” which, obviously the deaf dog couldn’t hear, Bee moseyed toward me anyhow, followed by Ollie with Fric bringing up the rear.
I haven’t looked around outside carefully since it’s gotten lighter and don’t know that I will. Sure there’s a part of me that’s always fascinated by wild animal prints or droppings near the house. And over the years, I’ve gotten used to the feeling–sometimes proven, sometimes not– of being watched by deer, moose, and other wild creatures in the woods above the house. But this time the heat and humidity, coupled with the silence made whatever was out there seem like he or she was everywhere at once. I found that more unnerving than going eyeball to eyeball with the bear or the rabid raccoon.
But now as I sit in the office and the first sunlight heralds what’s supposed to be another brutally hot day, I realize that I probably won’t find any evidence any closer to the house than usual. Although Bee almost surely barked at a wild animal, most likely it wasn’t a real animal out there that brought all the dogs up short when we went outside. Instead, it was animal scent that had been concentrated and perpetuated by the heat and humidity. Undoubtedly my scent-oriented dogs were able to figure that out which is why their fears diminished. Visually-oriented human wimp that I am, I could not.
I’d been afraid of nothing more than a low-lying cloud of animal scent.