My ears perk up to the jingle jangle of metal-on-metal, hopeful that it predicts a dog and his collar, disappointed when it turns out to be keys on a belt (boring).
A person walking down the street with their arm outstretched holds the promise of a leash with a dog on the other end (sometimes it’s a stroller holding a kid. Oh well).
From a distance, my eyes play a cruel trick on me, where shopping bags are dogs and dogs are shopping bags until I get close enough and one wins out (obviously I’m rooting for the dog).
But catch any part of a tail, and I know I’m in. You could say my motto is, “dog, until proven otherwise.”
How about dogs?
Does a dog know, merely by sight, that an approaching being is a fellow dog? Before you answer, remember this: Canis familiaris is the least uniform species on the planet. Members of this species come in a wide range of body shapes and sizes from itty bitty teeny weeny to absolutely ginormos. Adult members of this species appear as tight little packages, huge weightlifters, lean ballerinas, elongated hotdogs and everything in between.
Does a Pug look at an Afghan Hound and say to themselves, “Hello, dog!” or does a Pug look at an Afghan Hound and say, “WHAT IN THE WORLD ARE YOU?” and only after olfactory investigation (smelling) does the Pug realize, “Oh my goodness. How silly of me. You’re a dog. Sorry…