The Dog Knows

I’m in the cabin and need to go in to the bathroom. Sam does not raise her head from her paws or move out of the cabin doorway to let me by. I step past her and say needlessly. “Stay. I’ll be right back.”

I am back at my cabin perch, ready to come in for the day, or needing to close up and go get Henry in the afternoon. As soon as my feet move Sam is on her feet and out the door. She knows.

Habits are a peculiar thing. A routine based on timing is different. That kind of routine finds the cats fighting or worse, (throwing up) to get my attention if I sleep past my usual hour. That routine is Sam whining at the side of the bed. It’s our little parade to the door and welcoming them back in with the standard phrase for breakfast, “Here it is. Here it comes. Here you go.” But the sensing of what is next by mere movement, particularly ones that seem the same as another, is an amazing thing to me. Do I do something differently?

It couldn’t be picking up my coffee cup because I do that almost every time I go in. I’m not shutting down the computer with any particular noise (if I’m shutting it down at all). Do I sigh? Do I square my shoulders and plant my feet just so? Or does Sam know from the minute I begin to think, It’s time to go in?

It’s a mystery of connection, familiarity, something shared between us.

On the other hand, as we head back to the house, she is not so accommodating. This is particularly pronounced when I’m wanting to fly, having stayed too long and in need of leaving post haste to pick Henry up on time. Then she is most prone to dawdle; to stand, halfway between cabin and house, and look at me as I call her. Sam come. Sam!

When I remember this tendency, I run behind her, herding her toward the house, urging her on from behind. But I forget, and even when I don’t, I am often struck by the realization that Sam is getting old. Sam has her own rhythms.

We all have our own rhythms. This is what dogs know.