Darryl and Rose having their afternoon tea. Darryl has one more week to make some lambs,
and he’s outta here.

  March 20, 2009 – I meet and hear from a lot of people who prefer dogs to people, who like them more. This is, of course, their choice. I love my dogs, as is apparent, and a good portion of my life is focused on them. But I don’t love them more than people, nor do I think they are superior to people, if such a comparison can even be made.
  Writing about dogs, people and love (conditional and unconditional), I got a ton of interesting e-mail.
  One came this week from a person active in dog and animal rescue, and she disagreed with my thoughts about dog love being less meaningful to me than human love because unconditional love removes both choice and responsibility. If love is unconditional, it doesn’t mean a lot to me. Conditional love requires something of us.
   “We differ,” D wrote. “I find animals to be far more honest in their relationships than people. That’s why I prefer them.”  D has clearly encountered some bad people, and some good animals.
    Here’s what I thought when I read this note. It made me a bit sad. Dogs cannot be honest any more than they can be dishonest. They are simple creatures emotionally, even if their instincts are complex.
   Honesty and deception are human inventions and human traits. Animals can not make choices like that. Dogs will not return a biscuit they stole because it bugs them.
  Dogs live – survive – by focusing on food, attention, shelter, and by navigating and manipulating human emotions. Dogs that do it well thrive, get treats and love and sleep on soft beds,  dogs that fail to touch us emotionally often end up dead or in shelters.
  Dogs and other animals do not have consciences. Dogs cannot freely choose where they will live. They are utterly dependent on us for every aspect of their lives and movements.
  I do not see my dogs in terms of human notions like honesty and loyalty. I see them as animals with distinct traits, some genetic, some learned, some taught and conditioned. Rose does not herd sheep out of a noble sense of serving humanity, but out of powerful instincts carefully bred and my bumbling training. Lenore is loving because she has a great breeder who chose five generations of well-bred dogs. Izzy’s work is tuning into the needs and attentions of humans. Frieda is calming down because of rigorous daily positive reinforcement training, not because she has integrity or suddenly acquired compassion for me.
  Much as I love my dogs, the love of dogs does not have the same meaning for me as the affections of people because their love is both unthinking and unconditional. It is instinctual, not emotional.
  That does not trivialize it or make it meaningless.
  I resist comparing people to dogs in the same way it makes me uncomfortable to compare dogs and children. A lot of people are hard to like, but that doesn’t make them inferior to animals.
   A society that can’t tell the difference between people and dogs and dogs and kids is in trouble, which is perhaps the point.
  People make choices. They can be good or bad, better or stuck. They can be creative and brave or reactive and timid. I love some and dislike others. But I wouldn’t want to put my dogs in the position of being judged by notions like honesty and loyalty.
  They are better than that, and I love them too much.