When I saw this picture on my brother’s Facebook status, it started me thinking. It’s a different take on the old idea of seeing yourself as others see you, presumably for self-improvement purposes. Other people see us through the filter of cultural expectations, and their experience of other people. They see our public face, dressed, prepared and polite. (Well, most of the time)

Not so the dog. Of course, some dogs, and regrettably an increasing number, see humans as cruel and domineering, abusers and neglecters. We still see some shadows of the experiences Poppy had before she came to be part of our family, but over time she is learning that people aren’t all bad.

I wonder how Poppy really sees me. Does she actually have any conscious ideas about who I am? When I see her staring vacantly into space, with her nostrils whiffling and her ears slowly panning around, is she really as vacant as I assume, or is she pondering deep thoughts? She may be considering the futility of existence, or wondering where she left her favourite old toothbrush, or she might just be being. My dog might be a canine Timothy Leary, a Tibetan Dog of the Dead, relaxing and drifting downstream, or I might be seriously underestimating her intellectual capabilities. If only she could express her thoughts, we might have the answer to freewill and predestination, several new insights into string theory, and a cure for baldness.

I searched for “Om dog” and look what I found! Poppy could not do this (or at least I have never caught her in the act) Thanks to these guys for the brilliant picture 🙂

However, for the purposes of my ponderings, I decided to follow the implicit premise of the caption on the picture: your dog thinks you are wonderful, so aspire to be wonderful. Trying to put myself in her shoes (paws?) rather than putting her into mine was a little tricky, but I decided this was not a hugely scientific process, so I would not worry about it too much.

Firstly, my dog* knows that I write lists. Ergo, with only the slightest sophistry, I can say that she sees me as a list writer. I therefore sat and wrote a list of things she may think about me. She is not aware that I often separate my lists into categories, but I felt free to do that anyway.

The first category of thoughts my dog has about me involves basic qualities.
Poppy thinks I smell nice. Her definition of what smells nice and mine are probably very different, but I felt this was a good starting point. The sense of smell is very important to dogs, and is apparently more important to humans than we realise, so I shall aspire to be the haven of fragrance that she already thinks I am.

Poppy recognises that I have authority. She doesn’t overestimate just how much authority I have. I have less than Geoff, her adored pack leader, but she knows my authority is greater than her own. I shall, therefore, aspire to being a benevolent despot, but one who knows when to bow to superior knowledge.

I am mysterious, and frankly baffling to our furry friend. Why don’t I want her to follow me into the bathroom? How can I possibly take so long to get ready to take her out? That is for me to know, and for her to wonder at. I shall aspire always to be baffling and mysterious. I am well on the way, as far as Geoff is concerned, and I take this to be a Sign of Progress.

Poppy clearly feels completely secure and comfortable with me. She doesn’t worry when I approach, she can relax when I am there, and she allows me to tickle her tummy and clean her ears for her. Please understand that I am not offering ear-cleaning and other personal grooming services, but I shall redouble my efforts to be the sort of friend with whom people feel totally safe.

I am patient and indulgent with Poppy, but I doubt she sees these as anything but the natural order of things. I shall, however, aspire to be more patient with people, and to indulge the foibles of others, as they certainly have to deal with enough of mine.

The second loose category of things I suspect Poppy thinks about me concerns abilities. I am not sure she necessarily thinks I am superior, but my abilities can be very helpful to her, just as her abilities can be very useful to anyone who can’t reach to lick their own toes, or who has a hard bone they need chewed.

I can reach things down from high places and find things she cannot find. I can safely introduce her to new situations and friends. I am, I suppose, a facilitator. There is another area I can aspire to develop.

I can make things other than an unholy mess, and am good at removing ticks and fleas. I hardly know when I shall find the time to aspire to more of that, but I shall try.

I can also throw like a girl. I am a girl, but I aspire to continued femaleness.

The third set of impressions I imagine Poppy has of me are to do with behaviours.
I am a playmate. I join in doing things she likes to do. I will throw stones or corks for her to chase, I will get down on the floor with her for a rough and tumble, or play tug of war. Playing with her is a wonderfully relaxing, living in the moment, carefree thing. I shall aspire to be more doglike in my appreciation of just having fun.

Poppy knows that I am almost always pleased to see what she has discovered – a new flower to sit on, a fat bee, wallowing about with piles of pollen on its knees, the gecko darting out from behind a plant pot, a skull, a whole ham bone with trotter attached. I am less impressed with fox poo, but you get the general idea. I shall aspire always to be thrilled by the new discoveries and enthusiasm of others.

My dog is an archaeologist

She believes that when I say something to her, I mean it. Whether it’s encouragement for good behaviour, congratulations on being a wonderful dog, instruction or correction, she understands that I am in control of what I say, and can assert myself politely when necessary. What a host of ideas that one brings to mind!

There are so many things I could imagine Poppy thinks about me. She sees me at home, when I am just being myself, when I am tatty and half asleep, when I am disappearing under a pile of washing, when I can’t get my act together, when I set fire to the dinner. What does she make of all that? I shudder to think. Some things that she sees privately are not to be aspired to for public consumption. For example, Poppy thinks I am pink, with brown arms and legs. She can think it as much as she likes, but I shall not be developing my slight talent for nakedness any further.

* I suspect she thinks I am deluded. Poppy probably has more sense than to think that she belongs to me. I suspect she knows that she belongs with me. There is a subtle difference. I aspire to translate this concept into my marriage. Geoff and I don’t belong to each other: we belong with each other.