Silent and Not So Silent Communications
Every dog and handler develops their own language.
Some of those languages are obvious. Commands, hand signals, whistles, and routines. Others are far more subtle. A glance. A shift in posture. A slight movement of the head. Over time, entire conversations take place without either party making a sound.
Sage and I have spent nearly a decade developing ours.
At ninety pounds, she occupies a significant amount of physical space wherever she goes. She sleeps either on our bed or beside it on the floor, depending on her mood and her assessment of available real estate. Every morning, almost without fail, she believes the day should begin around five o’clock.
If she is on the bed, her wake-up procedure begins politely enough.
She wiggles her way closer until her head is near mine. Then comes a gentle nudge with her nose. If I fail to acknowledge her efforts, she escalates. A paw appears on the mattress nearby. Ignore that, and the paw moves closer. Eventually it lands squarely on my shoulder.
The message is clear.
The sun will be rising soon. There are important dog matters requiring immediate attention. Please report for duty.
When Sage sleeps on the floor, she employs an entirely different communication strategy.
First come the ears.
Somewhere along the way, she discovered that flapping her ears creates just enough noise to announce her presence without being overtly rude. How she figured this out remains a mystery. It is remarkably effective.
The ear flap is followed by a forceful huff if necessary.
Then comes a low growl.
Not an angry growl. More of a commentary.
A reminder that she has already attempted several reasonable methods of communication and is beginning to question my responsiveness.
If all else fails, she resorts to what I can only describe as her indoor bark.
Yes, she has an indoor bark and an outdoor bark. The indoor version is softer and clearly intended for family members. The outdoor version is reserved for coyotes, suspicious delivery drivers, and anyone else who might require a more formal announcement.
By the time the indoor bark appears, I generally surrender.
What makes the whole routine interesting is what happens next.
Once I get up and leave the bedroom, Sage often stays behind if my wife is still sleeping. The dog who supposedly needed me awake so urgently suddenly has no interest in following me.
Instead, she waits.
Patiently.
For about an hour.
Then she begins the entire process again with my wife.
Only after both humans are awake does Sage finally emerge into the family room where I am drinking my morning coffee. She then requests access to the front yard for what appears to be the actual purpose behind all these carefully orchestrated activities.
She isn’t on a leash. She simply steps outside and greets the dawn.
She moves quietly around the yard, gathering intelligence. She investigates evidence left behind by rabbits and coyotes during the night. She watches early morning walkers passing by. She conducts whatever business dogs consider important at that hour.
Then she finishes the task that started the entire operation.
Afterward she races back to the door and waits to be let inside.
The final step in our morning ritual takes place in the kitchen.
Sage runs in while I head for the laundry room to retrieve her Greenie. It is her reward for taking care of business in a civilized, ladylike fashion.
Over the years we have had discussions regarding proper treat-receiving etiquette.
At one point she was a little too enthusiastic. A ninety-pound retriever lunging for a treat tends to make negotiations brief and one-sided. Eventually we reached an agreement.
I would provide the treat.
She would accept it gently.
Like most successful agreements, it required both sides to adjust their behavior.
This morning revealed just how seriously she takes that arrangement.
As I handed her the Greenie, she was being exceptionally careful to take it politely. Unfortunately, I released it too soon and the treat dropped to the floor.
I expected her to snatch it up immediately.
Instead, she froze.
She lowered her nose and pointed directly at the treat.
Then she looked at me.
And waited.
The message was unmistakable.
No. That is not how this works.
My responsibility is to take the treat gently.
Your responsibility is to hand it to me properly.
Please uphold your end of the agreement.
So I bent down, picked up the Greenie, and handed it to her correctly.
Only then did she accept it.
That moment reminded me that training is rarely a one-way process.
We like to think we are teaching dogs. In reality, long-term partnerships become conversations. Expectations develop on both sides. Standards emerge. Trust grows through thousands of small interactions.
A good dog learns what is expected of her.
An exceptional dog learns what is expected of you.
Sage has reached that stage.
She understands our routines, our signals, our moods, and our habits. She notices when we violate established procedures every bit as quickly as we notice when she does.
In her mind, fairness requires consistency from both parties.
If she is expected to follow the rules, then so am I.
I suspect she may spend too much time observing my wife.