Since day one, I have realized that Lewis was a smart dog, a very smart dog. He has to be smart to be as butt-headed as he is. He can look at you with those owl-like eyes, and the message is quite clear – you’re not going to win. And it’s that keen intellect that has allowed him to collect a few pointers and impersonations from the animal world. The stare-down tactic of an owl mentioned above is but a cursory example. His repertoire is much greater and varied.
One of his most evident and oft-used imitations is the pig. This one is easy and predictable. Almost every domesticated animal knows this trick. The only difference is the occasion of its performance. Lewis hits all of the circuits – the RCA Victor dog pose with that pitiful expectation of help before he starves to death (by the way, I might have to change the title of this blog, since the last visit to the vet pegged the white fur generator at 150 pounds!), but I digress. His other pig impersonations occur at or under the table, hoping for dropped food, or spreading prone from one side of the kitchen to the other, hoping that the chef on duty might have excess to toss his way (no fruits or vegetables, please).
And then there is the old firsthand, or rather first nose confirmation of the presence of food by what a good friend of mine calls “counter-surfing.” Owners of small dogs might not be familiar with this concept whereby large, taller dogs stand on their back legs and peer over the countertop to see what they deem to be rightfully theirs.
Lewis is also very adept at mimicking a bull, specifically a charging bull. If you’re gone for a while, upon return, he will run at almost full speed until he headbutts you while seeming to say, “Hi, I’m still here!” whereupon he reverts to one of his pig impersonations.
Finally, I witnessed a new trick by a not so old dog the other day. He now can impersonate an elephant….in several ways. He can prance and bounce along just like the old song, “The Baby Elephant Walk.”
But he exhibited a new elephant trick the other day when it was particularly hot, and he was home alone. Don’t ask me why, but when he’s by himself, he insists on staying outside rather than inside with the air conditioning. I credit such behavior to his guarding genetics.
As you approach the back door, he immediately shifts into his charging bull routine. You can’t even get to the door to put the key in. And on this particular day, his routine was no different. He saw me, charged me, then blocked me from getting to the door, because he wants to get into the air conditioning first.
At this point, I have to pause to relate a relevant vignette. I was watching one of the animal shows the other day about elephants. A zoo was hoping to acclimate a young male elephant to an older, head of the herd bull. They eventually succeeded, but the process involved what they termed as gentle but “message-sending” kicking. The older elephant would walk up to the younger one, hike his back leg and kick the younger one just to send the message, “I’m the boss here.”
Yes, that’s right. Lewis walked up between me and the door, raised his back leg, and KICKED ME!
The message was quite clear, “I’m the boss here.”
Living with Lewis 