Jasper woofing it up. (Seen through the slats of the wooden fence.)
The following blog starts off fun and then turns not so fun. Forgive me for the tonal inconsistency, but it’s all true, and it all falls under the heading of “barking,” which I’ve been ruminating about quite a bit lately.
On with the blog.
My life contains a lot more barking than I’d like. Please meet the cast of characters who make my days cacophonous.
Say bow-wow to Jasper.
Pictured above is the poodle who lives next door to us, Jasper. Jasper has the privilege of a doggy door, so he often strolls into his backyard and announces to the world that he exists. “Woof, woof!” yells Jasper, “Woof, woof!”
Over and over and over and over. And over. And over again. “Here I am!” he proclaims to his audience in his good-natured monotone. “Right here!”
Finally, though, a blessing. Silence. Ahhhh.
“I’m still here!” he continues. “Right here!” And on and on and on.
Sometimes (too often), Jasper incites our dog, Freddy, to descend into self-destructive insanity. Freddy will slam his front paws on the wooden fence, jump up and down on his hind legs, scream-bark, and scratch and BITE THE FENCE. Behold the alarming evidence:
My life contains a lot more barking than I’d like. Please meet the cast of characters who make my days cacophonous.
Say bow-wow to Jasper.
Pictured above is the poodle who lives next door to us, Jasper. Jasper has the privilege of a doggy door, so he often strolls into his backyard and announces to the world that he exists. “Woof, woof!” yells Jasper, “Woof, woof!”
Over and over and over and over. And over. And over again. “Here I am!” he proclaims to his audience in his good-natured monotone. “Right here!”
Finally, though, a blessing. Silence. Ahhhh.
“I’m still here!” he continues. “Right here!” And on and on and on.
Sometimes (too often), Jasper incites our dog, Freddy, to descend into self-destructive insanity. Freddy will slam his front paws on the wooden fence, jump up and down on his hind legs, scream-bark, and scratch and BITE THE FENCE. Behold the alarming evidence:
The marks of Freddy’s toenails and teeth on the fence. Yes, I do believe Freddy has managed to get splinters in his little muzzle. □□♀️
Speaking of Freddy.
Freddy’s barking is the absolute worst. Not only because it is so shrill, loud, and percussive that it often makes me scream involuntarily, but because he still barks at my husband.
Mind you, we’ve given this dog a safe and loving home for more than five years now. And Freddy actually has only affection for my husband. But there remains some deep-seated impulse in our dog’s little brain to sound an urgent warning when Bob (the aforementioned husband) signals that he’s about to stand up. If Bob closes his laptop, say, or subtly moves his ottoman, Freddy goes into full-throttle five-alarm civil defense alert mode: “Warning! Warning! The man is on the move! REPEAT! The man is on the move!” And heaven help us if Bob should open the front door to go get the mail. “CODE RED! I REPEAT: CODE RED!”
If you want to try to unravel Freddy’s trigger-prone disposition, you can read about his difficult early days and his slow, slow acclimatization. Bob and I just resignedly treat him with radical tolerance—and 10 milligrams of fluoxetine (aka Prozac) twice a day. Freddy continues to make microscopic improvements over time—I predict he’ll keep mellowing out gradually until he finally reaches some kind of normalcy right before he dies.
Freddy’s barking is the absolute worst. Not only because it is so shrill, loud, and percussive that it often makes me scream involuntarily, but because he still barks at my husband.
Mind you, we’ve given this dog a safe and loving home for more than five years now. And Freddy actually has only affection for my husband. But there remains some deep-seated impulse in our dog’s little brain to sound an urgent warning when Bob (the aforementioned husband) signals that he’s about to stand up. If Bob closes his laptop, say, or subtly moves his ottoman, Freddy goes into full-throttle five-alarm civil defense alert mode: “Warning! Warning! The man is on the move! REPEAT! The man is on the move!” And heaven help us if Bob should open the front door to go get the mail. “CODE RED! I REPEAT: CODE RED!”
If you want to try to unravel Freddy’s trigger-prone disposition, you can read about his difficult early days and his slow, slow acclimatization. Bob and I just resignedly treat him with radical tolerance—and 10 milligrams of fluoxetine (aka Prozac) twice a day. Freddy continues to make microscopic improvements over time—I predict he’ll keep mellowing out gradually until he finally reaches some kind of normalcy right before he dies.
Freddy charges his solar batteries alongside his toy platypus.
Then there’s the non-dog.
The third instance of barking doesn’t come from a dog at all. It comes from a motion-activated barking machine belonging to our across-the-alley neighbor. It probably looks something like the picture below. It’s supposed to make everyone believe this neighbor has a snarly, threatening guard dog, but it really just announces that he has no such thing.
The third instance of barking doesn’t come from a dog at all. It comes from a motion-activated barking machine belonging to our across-the-alley neighbor. It probably looks something like the picture below. It’s supposed to make everyone believe this neighbor has a snarly, threatening guard dog, but it really just announces that he has no such thing.
Walmart.com sells this device and highlights its alleged wide-ranging benefits.
If the recorded dog were real, I imagine it would look something like this illustration from iStock:
I often activate this ridiculous apparatus when I take our garbage cans out to the alley. Occasionally, the recording will inspire other neighborhood dogs to demonstrate their own very real barking abilities.
The effect: irritating, ineffectual, and baffling.
Barking is the opposite of conversing.
All three of the above noisemakers leave me with a single simple question: WHY? Why do you continue to bark, Jasper? We all know you exist. And Freddy, why on earth are you barking about the nice guy who takes care of you? And really, what’s with the blatant barking machine?
(Bob posed some version of this last question to the machine’s owner, and got a response along the lines of “Your dog barks,” as if this explained anything.)
Though I know that dogs do communicate with one another, generally barking is a one-way street. The barker has a message and is intent on delivering it, whether it annoys you, startles you, or confuses you.
People bark too.
Here’s the tonal shift I warned you about. Feel free to stop reading.
There’s a lot of barking behavior among humans these days. Posting partisan memes on social media. Holding up flags. Hanging up banners. Wearing t-shirts and hats emblazoned with slogans. Such displays serve a dual purpose: to earn validation from like-minded people (mmmm, dopamine) and to send a salvo to “the other side”—to ring their proverbial doorbell, throw a message in their face, and run away.
I believe we need to do better than barking. We need to intentionally let go of our instincts, bravely let down our guard, and sincerely seek to understand why people hold different political positions than we do. Not to argue with them; not to win them over. To listen openly and treat them like the human beings they are. To see them as our fellow citizens instead of our mortal enemies. And maybe even find some common ground.
If this plea upsets you, if you find yourself rushing to tell me about moral imperatives, standing on the right side of history, or similar, pretty-please take a deep breath and release it slowly. Maybe a few times.
Like dogs, we have visceral instincts that make us feel threatened and react impulsively. But unlike dogs, we are equipped with the superpower of a vast, nuanced language. With it—and with precious sentiments like trust, compassion, and yes, humanity—we have the ability to hold constructive conversations that can bring us understanding and connection.
If this makes any kind of sense to you, you may want to check out the US organization called Braver Angels, which, as their website explains, “is leading the nation’s largest cross-partisan, volunteer-led movement to bridge the partisan divide and strengthen our democratic republic.” I’ve attended a couple of events, and they gave me an unprecedented sense of relief and hopefulness. It was beyond refreshing to be among people who held different opinions but shared a desire to respectfully listen, learn, and identify areas where we can agree.
Jasper literally just started barking. I believe he supports this message.
Thanks for reading all the way through. Comments and conversations are welcome.
The effect: irritating, ineffectual, and baffling.
Barking is the opposite of conversing.
All three of the above noisemakers leave me with a single simple question: WHY? Why do you continue to bark, Jasper? We all know you exist. And Freddy, why on earth are you barking about the nice guy who takes care of you? And really, what’s with the blatant barking machine?
(Bob posed some version of this last question to the machine’s owner, and got a response along the lines of “Your dog barks,” as if this explained anything.)
Though I know that dogs do communicate with one another, generally barking is a one-way street. The barker has a message and is intent on delivering it, whether it annoys you, startles you, or confuses you.
People bark too.
Here’s the tonal shift I warned you about. Feel free to stop reading.
There’s a lot of barking behavior among humans these days. Posting partisan memes on social media. Holding up flags. Hanging up banners. Wearing t-shirts and hats emblazoned with slogans. Such displays serve a dual purpose: to earn validation from like-minded people (mmmm, dopamine) and to send a salvo to “the other side”—to ring their proverbial doorbell, throw a message in their face, and run away.
I believe we need to do better than barking. We need to intentionally let go of our instincts, bravely let down our guard, and sincerely seek to understand why people hold different political positions than we do. Not to argue with them; not to win them over. To listen openly and treat them like the human beings they are. To see them as our fellow citizens instead of our mortal enemies. And maybe even find some common ground.
If this plea upsets you, if you find yourself rushing to tell me about moral imperatives, standing on the right side of history, or similar, pretty-please take a deep breath and release it slowly. Maybe a few times.
Like dogs, we have visceral instincts that make us feel threatened and react impulsively. But unlike dogs, we are equipped with the superpower of a vast, nuanced language. With it—and with precious sentiments like trust, compassion, and yes, humanity—we have the ability to hold constructive conversations that can bring us understanding and connection.
If this makes any kind of sense to you, you may want to check out the US organization called Braver Angels, which, as their website explains, “is leading the nation’s largest cross-partisan, volunteer-led movement to bridge the partisan divide and strengthen our democratic republic.” I’ve attended a couple of events, and they gave me an unprecedented sense of relief and hopefulness. It was beyond refreshing to be among people who held different opinions but shared a desire to respectfully listen, learn, and identify areas where we can agree.
Jasper literally just started barking. I believe he supports this message.
Thanks for reading all the way through. Comments and conversations are welcome.
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