Man’s Best Friend
On the way to the lanes the other day, a car passed me on the left. Through the half-open rear passenger window was the head of a very happy dog. Eyes squinting and ears flapping in the wind, he seemed ecstatic and I believe I know why.
A dog’s sense of smell is so dominant, we have yet to fathom how it works as well as it does. We haven’t been able to create machines that find people lost in the wilderness or under destroyed buildings, discover hidden contraband or even detect cancer cells in people the way a dog can sniff them out. We should be grateful that we have gotten along so well with the species this long.
With a brain only one-tenth the size of ours, a dog’s olfactory center is forty times larger. Depending on the breed, a dog has 25 to 60 times the number of scent receptors inside that cold, wet nose. That would make them up to 10,000,000 times more sensitive to smell than we are.
That dog in the car was being blasted by the scents of every animal, person and thing that had been in the area for who-knows how long…smacking him in the nose as he flew by. “Cat! – Dog! – FEMALE dog!! – Garbage can! – Someone dropped a burger! – A dead thing! – Turd!
Analogies would be mind-boggling. As I have noted in earlier posts, I’m a visual guy. My sense of smell is fair and my hearing sucks. If I could see as well as a dog smells, an object you mere mortals could see 600 yards away I could see just as well from 3000 miles. I wouldn’t just see a tree on the side of the road, I would ‘see’ every crease of bark, every nest and creature living in the tree and every bug on every leaf. I would see the fine mist of a trail left behind by a cat that passed by long ago. It would be like that x-ray vision I wish I had growing up…only better.
I do not have a large catalog of dog pictures but I have some candid shots of pets I have known. Since that sighting in the car, I’ll include a few here. The blog is about images after all.
Grandma lived upstairs and did quite well the last 80 years of her life after meningitis left her with one eye and no hearing. Three years after Toulouse was gone, I brought Malachi home because I thought it was time to have a dog in the house again.
Malachi had just a little of that dopiness you find in some Irish Setters. The last family dog (Mom kept cats for the rest of her days) prompts one memory. One day in the living room, someone told Malachi to ‘sit’…and he plopped his rear end down on the couch, with his paws on the floor just like the rest of us.
Jack and Jo have a wonderful country home in Chapel Hill. Large lots in the woods in between small horse farms. They have dogs, as do many of the neighbors. The neighbor dogs visit each other and this was one of those days when the menagerie was all present. When someone decides he wants to go out, everyone wants to go out.
As I learned after telling the stories about Toulouse, we do love our pets. I suspect many in my ‘exclusive’ readership would prefer animal stories over rants and tombstone tales. I’ll see what I can do.