Dawn begins to break, and one is trying to sleep after the previous night’s festivities. The next-door neighbor lets out their dogs. The dogs begin to bark incessantly. It feels personal, and sleep is impossible. How inconsiderate and annoying.

One’s friend owns a white terrier. The creature’s body is thick and muscular, ripped as curdled milk, and it leaps and barks and lunges at the leash. Conversation is impossible. The walk with one’s friend is disappointing.

Some owners wax poetic about their dogs, talking loquaciously about the creature’s intelligence, soulful eyes, glossy coat, favorite chew toy, dietary preferences, elimination habits, speed, body language, pedigree, loyalty, sense of humor, and the joy of dog ownership.

It’s terrifying when a large dog bares its teeth, growls, and claws the ground. A dog threatening to bite is a menace.

Some dogs are escape artists. A woman in New Orleans owned a German Shepherd who waited by the front door to run away during a party. All the guests ran outside to join in the chase! They ran about the streets calling the German Shepherd’s name, “Gunner! Gunner! Gunner!” At the scene of the party, ice melted in everyone’s drinks, and the appetizers dried out and spoiled.   

One envies the well-behaved dog’s owner. The dog sniffs at dandelions and lifts its snout to be petted. Its lustrous red coat shines golden in the sun. The beautiful dog is self-possessed, a joy to behold.

One’s friend has a neurotic dog that snarls and snaps at guests. The only way to pacify the dog’s neurosis is by feeding the creature potato chips. Guests take turns sitting next to the dog and tossing it potato chips, one by one. As long as the dog is being fed, the creature forgets its discomfiture.

Great respect for owners of difficult dogs. A difficult dog makes demands on one’s time, patience, and resources beyond what some humans are willing to commit. Life seems complicated enough without a difficult dog. No harm, no foul intended.

Small dogs can make big impressions. Penelope, a Chihuahua-Shih Tzu mix, was so intelligent, she knew dozens of tricks. She could stand on her hind legs while her owner fired fake bullets, and then fall over and play dead. Penelope could pirouette like a ballerina. Her appearance was questionable, as if she were made of motley felt scraps glued together, with ears large as bat wings. Penelope’s ugliness contributed to her appeal, along with her intelligent nature.

Fitz, a miniature Spitz, named after Fitzwilliam Darcy from Pride and Prejudice, was a perfect bachelor who did an excellent impression of a sentient stuffed animal. He stayed where he was put, unless he was hungry or needed to go out. Fitz allowed his owner to dress him in costumes, a panda, a spider, Elvis.

Lana, the littlest dog, had a dowager’s mien, regal, imperious, and ridiculous given that she was a three-pound lint ball of black fluff. The walking furball was old and blind. When let outside, Lana marched erratically with purpose around the lawn in widening loops.  Her perambulations were charming.     

One hears of dogs treated brutally, unkindly, by soulless villains of humanity. The abuse of dogs is criminal above and below. The she-wolf, in Dante’s Inferno, is a strong contender for representing those who abuse animals for greed. The she-wolf is “lean with every craving” and is eventually killed by a greyhound.

The best dogs know instinctively when one is not interested in engaging. One does not want to pet the dog. Does not want to get licked by the dog. Does not want to throw the ball or the stick, and have it returned all slobbery to throw again. One does not want to share one’s dishes with the dog. Does not want to feed the dog tidbits of table food, though one will admit a dog is handy and helpful for cleaning crumbs and spills dropped on the floor.

“Things that certainly won’t come.

A dog, if called to by a man with a stick in his hand.”

from The Pillow Book by Sei Shōnagon