Forgive me, but this post is a little bit of a rant about social interaction…between humans, between dogs, and between humans and dogs. Anyone fortunate enough to have man’s best friend in their household really ought to know how to behave in public, sadly they sometimes don’t… either with or without their pet.

It’s a Dog’s Life

My writing buddy, Oscar Wilde, and I just returned from our walk. We exercise together daily and he never fails to remind me when I forget. It’s good for us both.

We stride out together almost every morning while the shade in the lanes is still and deep. He wanders a bit and I chide him to keep up with my long loping gait. He persists in bringing to my attention all of the fence posts, buzzing bees, beer bottles and gum wrappers that I forget to notice.

When we get home we each lap up some cool water and retreat to our corners for the morning’s work. (His is napping under my desk.) He lets me know when I’ve been sitting still for too long.

Oscar is four years old now and has lost the auburn and black highlights that marked his baby coat. His is paling now into the bleached wheat color that distinguishes his good Irish breeding. He weighs thirty-five pounds and does yoga poses every morning.

He looks and acts remarkably like Winne the Pooh. Especially when he lounges on his back in a sunny spot with his dopey little wiener exposed for all to see. He doesn’t care. He has no shame, no guilt, no worries past or future.

He feels well-fed, safe and loved and in return he is happy to gallop along by side and meet others along the way.  And therein lies the problem.

It’s A Doggone Shame

Oscar and I love to meet human people, and dog-people, on our walks. However we are continually disappointed at the anti-social behavior of most people and dogs we come across.

Today we encountered three potential conversations. The first was with two mature two ladies, both well into their fifth decades, wearing stylish wicking microfiber walking gear and leading a shaggy golden retriever. They approached us head on, then about one hundred yards before we were to cross paths they lurched to the left to cross the street. They looked warily at us as we passed by. Oscar shrugged his shoulders and jangled his lead. He wasn’t affronted but I was and it took half of a long block to put the irritation out of my mind.

Less than ten minutes later we saw two dark skinned middle aged ladies holding tight to the leash of an ancient black lab with graying muzzle and limping gait. He held up his majestic head and gave his tail a tentative, hopeful little wag. The ladies reined in tightly on the metal teeth of his “control” collar and looked straight ahead. I realized that they were house cleaners delegated with the chore of walking this canine elder statesman and they didn’t know how he would respond to us.

Our third meeting was with a young mother athletically pushing her toddler in a running stroller with huge, rugged wheels suitable for 4-wheeling mountainous terrain. I raised my hand in greeting as she approached and Oscar pranced with eagerness to meet the little bundle straight-jacketed into the buggy. But it was not to be, for she was wired into her music with a headset,  which she tugged from her ear when I spoke. She looked downright annoyed with me for saying “Good morning.”

I’m the Alpha and He Knows It

I spent a solid year training Oscar when we brought him home as a four month old puppy. We took evening classes on rainy October evenings and training walks in unfamiliar places to practice new skills. I took him out with his mentor, Waldo, my girlfriend’s older and wiser Australian Shepard. Waldo was endlessly patient.

It took Oscar a very short while indeed, compared to the time it took our sons, to learn right from wrong, where to pee, when it was not okay to make loud noise and how to meet and greet others in public. Oscar, at least, will do anything to please me, especially if it involves a tasty treat.

I even taught him to sit down when approached by small children so that they can run their fingers through his fluffy curls without fear.

He’s no doggy genius, he was socialized and trained. He listens to what I say and watches everything I do for clues for what is okay and what is not. It’s that simple. The leash he wears is only symbolic in that it reassures other people.

People…, People Who Need People

Wasn’t that the lyric Barbara Streisand warbled so long ago?  Well, here’s my corollary:

Dogs Need People, People Need Dogs…People Need People, and Dogs Need Dogs

As a nation we spend more than $41 billion annually on our pets. And they give us back ten times that amount in physical affection, personal safety, exercise, soulful sensitivity to our moods, laughter inducing antics, and just good company.

So, why do so few adults invest the time and attention it takes to train and socialize their pets so that they can go about in the world and enjoy safe and stimulating interaction with their own species?

I’ve even been told by one frazzled neighbor, whose two snapping, snarling mutts threatened to pull out both of her arms as we paused to chat, that they were “just protecting me.” She’s nuts. She’s raised three sons, she ought to know better.

It’s only right to teach young ones, including pets, to respect us, our boundaries and our social rules.

There is no shortage of TV programming that goes over and over the basics. Watch The Dog Whisperer or find a local dog trainer in your area.

Can You Talk the Talk and Walk the Walk?

Dogs are fabulous participants in our everyday lives. No one could fail to be moved by the photos of the courageous search and rescue dogs who served tirelessly in the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks.

And there are thousands more highly trained service dogs who “work” every day assisting humans with disabilities or illnesses and as therapy pets in hospitals and elder care facilities.

Baby boomer empty-nesters like me blessed to have canine companionship. But to bask in the benefits of their presence, you should be prepared to help them learn. It’s just plain wrong to own a pet and fail to let him live a full, interactive life.

So there. I’ve had my bark. What’s your reply?