Decoded Dog

by Dianne Janczewski

  “Your dad is a wise man. You should listen to him often.”

  Chris and I cracked smiles at each other, knowing we were both thinking “So should I.”

  “So do you think that they can find a cure for CRFS without you?,” my eldest asked.

  “We’re not supposed to talk about it!” Diana glared at her sister.

  “I can at least ask!” Megan snapped.

  It was so nice to be home, really. I’d missed the energy.

  “Girls, it’s okay. There are lots of really smart people working on it. I’m sure they’ll figure it out. And there will probably be other opportunities to join in the hunt.”

  “But didn’t someone steal your idea?” Diana asked.

  I looked at Chris. It was sweet that he’d explained it that way.

  “Someone had the same idea as we did. I don’t know where she got it. But that’s not what’s important. It only shows that several people were thinking along the same lines, so maybe that means that we were on the right track.”

  “What did Neil say?” Chris slid in his question.

  “Nothing.” I met Chris’ eyes. “I didn’t get a chance to ask him. It was pretty crowded and he was rather tied up with all the official Regnum stuff.”

  Still locking eyes, both of us expressionless, Chris asked, “So you haven’t talked to him on the phone or by email since?”

  “No, and I don’t plan to. I think this is better left alone. I need to get back to concentrating on Addison’s work.”

  Chris gave me a slight nod in support of my painful release. He knew I was trying to convince myself. “So girls, what’s on the agenda for this weekend? Where are we going to find ourselves driving you to this time?”

  Two weeks later, nearing lunch, Kate poked her head in my office. “You have a visitor.”

  I looked up and frowned. it had to be a salesperson hoping to sell the latest innovation in pipettes. Anyone who knew me would have simply walked into my office. “Who is it?”

  “Neil Franklin. He’s very . . .” She seemed flustered.

  Everyone was hiding in their work. I glimpsed him through the spaces in the shelves, my heart pounding, anger welling. I stood, steeled myself, and walked towards the lab’s entry.

  “Hi,” he said, not daring to hug me. “I was wondering if you would have lunch with me.” Had he really come all the way to my lab to humiliate me in front of my team? “I suspected you wouldn’t take my call so I took a chance . . . I know you are probably—”

  I brushed past him drawing him into the hall and away from our audience.

  “Pissed? Correct. How did it happen?” I was seething.

  “Can we go to lunch? I can’t tell you about our decision process. But I wanted to—”

  “Isn’t that convenient? I don’t give a shit about the process. I want to know how she got my idea. No one had seen or heard anything about it until the meeting, so how did she just happen to have exactly the same idea, and even supposedly have preliminary results in advance of mine? She doesn’t even work on dogs!”

  “Are you accusing me of leaking the information to her?”

  “Not you, but one of your staff. Perhaps Perky wants a vacation with her boyfriend to the Bahamas but didn’t have the money. Then suddenly, just after I submitted my proposal, she happened to take leave.”

  “She’s a lesbian.”

  “I’m not in the mood for your—” My face was shrinking in like a prune. “Maybe Kendal got to a reviewer who fell for her bullshit seduction. I don’t know. You tell me.”

  “There would not have been enough time for that. Believe me, I’ve been trying to find out quietly ever since I saw her proposal,” he said in a condescending, calm voice.

  “And?”

  “And I can’t say anything for sure.”

  “Can’t or won’t.”

  “Both.” He glanced over my shoulder at my team, who were pretending to not be straining to hear. “Can we step outside or go to lunch to talk about this, please?” He caught my gaze, and his big brown eyes sucked me in.

  He let me keep venting as I stormed down the hall. “So wait, you knew she submitted a proposal similar to mine early on? And you never even bothered to warn me?” What a dick. “Because I would have what, said something? Done something?”

  “Actually yes, then I wouldn’t have been able to sit on the review committee and wouldn’t have—”

  “In other words, your ass or mine. Guess self-preservation trumps friendship.” I crashed through the building doors, hurting my hand. I slammed on my brakes and spun around. Neil almost ran into me. “How could they have voted to support her? How did she fully develop it in such a short period of time? How did she get to them and move to the top of the list?” I glared at him and tears welled. “How could you have not warned me?” He simply stared at me, expressionless. “Did you approve it?” I demanded.

  “My board approved it. I’m only one vote.”

  “That is such crap. They never approve anything if you don’t at least support it.”

  “I thought you said you had other ideas if this one didn’t pan out.”

  “None were as promising or fully formed, and there aren’t any more opportunities for funding or access to the samples at this point. But you already know that because you and Regnum have control over them. All I can do is limp along until more dogs die and open up more opportunities, and that’s not an option I would ever hope for.” I paused. “Or, I can just give up.”

  “You? Give up? You’re the most tenacious and creative person I know. I’m sure you have other ideas you can pursue, probably better ones.”

  “Don’t patronize me. She stole my work, she has the attention of the world now, and . . .”

  “I thought you weren’t interested in fame.”

  “You know what I mean. Attention means funding. I don’t give a shit about fame.” I spat out the words. “Tell me what happened, or what you think happened.” I could feel rage building, as l leaned in, physically challenging him.

  He looked down and shifted away from me. “You don’t need to know.”

  “How can you say that? I have to know. You betray our friendship, and all the respect I have from the canine research community.”

  “So now this is about your standing?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

  Dear God, I thought, was he actually being smug?

  “To hell with you. We used to have the same goal—making a difference. I was so excited that I had the opportunity to maybe make a contribution to saving these animals.”

  Taking both my hands, he forced me to focus. “You still can.” He looked so sure, so confident.

  I steeled my jaw. “Why am I even wasting my breath?” I stomped on. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  “Your choice,” he said.

  We walked silently to the noise-filled student union. We could have gone off campus to a quiet restaurant, but I embraced the distraction which forced us to talk about anything but failed grant proposals and dying dogs.

  We parted with a stiff goodbye; he was clearly trying to help me accept that it was just business, and I was struggling to figure out why I couldn’t. I watched him disappear around the corner. The silence was deafening.

  A flurry of thoughts and emotions spun faster until they reached a pinnacle and I stood in the lab doorway and time stopped. Slowly, quietly, in the background, the sound increased —bubbling water, thermostats clicking on and off, incubators hissing as they aerated growing cells. People were suspended in motion.

  Three sets of eyes were locked on me. They had never heard me get that angry, never heard me spit obscenities.

  “Is Kendal that one woman who called here for some cat cells a few weeks ago?” Kate asked tentatively, peeking around the shelves on the workbench.

  “Yes, and I suspect that she was really fishing around for some information. I don’t believe it was a coincidence that she called.”

  Megan got up and stood befo
re me, putting her hand on my arm. “Can we do anything for you? Do you want to have another brainstorming session? Want a beaker to throw against the wall?”

  I looked at each of them and managed a grateful nod. “No, we have work to do on Addison’s. But thank you.” I squeezed her hand as I walked past her, and shut my office door behind me.

  LIFE IS SHORT, PLAY WITH YOUR DOG

  I SAT on the porch, encased in my hoddie and blanket. My coffee cup and I sharing our warmth. Having said good morning with a wagging tail and body slides along my legs, Ania laid quietly warming my feet. Sofie bopped out the dog door to dance in the cold, then back again to make sure she didn’t miss anything. I drifted into thoughts about why these creatures are so special.

  The energy changes when a dog is in the room. Whether they lie quietly by your side, nudge you to elicit a stroke along their back, or stare intently to tell you it’s dinner time, you can feel the power of their presence. They are transformative. The weight of the world is released when nose meets hand. Their rhythmic breathing can slow your pace, calm your spirit, and extract your stress. Their state of being is infectious. Paws pitter-pattering raise your heartbeat and draw you to the door, unleashing an explosion of frenzied anticipation. The promise of a lifetime together, renewed, as you share in the delight of a walk.

  Dogs live in the moment. The past is done, the future unknown. There are no grudges, no guilt, no burdened history. Even those rescued from the worst of circumstances and rehabilitated, embrace life to the fullest, with only the occasional resurfacing of a painful memory and that resurfaces a reactionary behavior. Each day brings new possibilities.

  Ania’s world is simple. She delights in good meal; a hug, a treat, an invitation to join me on the couch. A ride in the car is ecstasy. When a new ball is bounced and bounced, her entire body is giddy. Pack members returning home are celebrated with the dog waggle dance. But take out a suitcase, and she becomes anxious at the sight of it laying open on the bed, uncertain if this trip will include her. She follows me from room to room, ears flat, head lowered; she is crestfallen. Her tail and her spirit drop when I open the front door and say, “I’ll be back.”

  Our alliance is the foundation of her well-being. I give her the context in which she is content, translating human love into social nourishment. She thrives on attention. She gives respect and loyalty to all members of her pack. As the alpha dog I am not better. It just works. There is social order; knowing your place settles disagreements before they surface. She will defend, comfort, acquiesce, or dominate as defined by her place in the hierarchy. She is fulfilled with a sense of belonging.

  Her communication is often subtle but always consistent. I simply have to pay attention to the movement of her tail, position of her ears, or tilt of her head, and I will know the tenor of her mood. She rumbles soft and low warnings, and barks loud alarms. She keeps Sofie in line with a not-so-subtle show of teeth. She does not overexaggerate or understate. She says what she means. I speak to her as a child, a partner, a student, a friend. She understands a diversity of words. The inflection of my voice is like a symphony to her well-trained ears. She recognizes my smile and feels my stress. She can laugh when I rub her belly. She can pout when I tell her no more. She can love. Yes. Love.

  Dogs are good at keeping secrets. Ania and Sofie will stare me blankly in the face, sitting next to the overturned trash can, not revealing even a hint of which one is guilty. Both will cower if I scold, both will be elated if I ignore the mess. Some would say they don’t have the type of memory that connects them to these incidents, but I have lived with dogs long enough to know they know. They keep my secrets too. I can be in the best or worst of moods, reflected back at me by their exuberance or quiet, but the moment Chris or the girls walk into the house, they reveal nothing, greeting them as if all is right with the world. They are stoic and unflinching as part of my covenant with them.

  Some of dogs’ behavior is learned, some is innate. Dogs have an instinct to respond when something is amiss, but learn to temper their response when satisfied they have been heard. Despite the repeated positive daily reinforcement of the mailman’s retreat, Ania learned that he does not need to be reminded that this is her territory. He comes and leaves quickly. She no longer needs to tell him to.

  They are keenly aware of where I am in the house. Sofie, still a pup, is always underfoot. The length of the kitchen must be traversed together. Clean laundry is escorted from room to room. I have no privacy in the shower. But she will learn, like Ania has, when to follow and when to stay put, because I will be right back. Lying by my side, Ania pays close attention, listens, and interprets my movements, looking for signs. She springs to life at the sound of the leash or garbage bag being tied up. She knows these mean she will accompany me to familiar places.

  Our relationship with dogs is believed to have begun 30,000 years ago, when we first began to domesticate them from wolves. Domestication is a twist on the theory of natural selection, with selection done by man, not nature. Random mutations accumulate naturally in a species, as long as the organism can survive with the mutation. With natural selection, if the mutation confers an advantage, or is at least neutral in its effect, it can be retained in successive generations. Domestication, on the other hand, occurs when man chooses to retain the mutation, expressed as a physical trait (phenotype) that we see as beneficial or desirable. Both natural selection and domestication ultimately result in evolution of the species. But domestication can result in retaining genes that help us, yet harming the species we are creating.

  As for dogs, the latest belief is that humans and dogs co-evolved. Capitalizing on the hunting strategies of wolves, humans mimicked them to track and hunt prey, while wolves benefited from scavenging among the humans’ discards. Canines who were sly enough to befriend the humans benefited most from the humans’ curiosity about the world around them. Those dogs relinquished their territories to track with the humans. Slowly we became each other’s guardians, co-hunters, and eventually companions. While definitive evidence would be hard to find, it is reasonable to assume that early humans assisted by dogs would have a higher chance of success.

  Once domesticated, humans became a necessity for the dog’s survival. Though today’s dog can adapt to becoming feral, no domestic dogs do well in the wild. Stories abound of how even the most street-wise dogs express their domesticated genes, and find a spot on the bed when offered a chance at the good life. This is not the same for their wild relatives. An Australian dingo, a coyote, or a wolf can be tamed, but not domesticated. From the start, wolf puppies will not make eye contact with humans. Unlike dog pups, they are not interested in what we have to offer. A wounded coyote will not show appreciation or adaptive behavior to the rehabilitation we offer, but will bolt for freedom the moment the cage door is opened. They are wild animals.

  So are foxes, distant relatives in Family Canidae. They are exceptionally skittish, and rarely tamable. They want nothing to do with us. However, in a fascinating fifty-year long study, a group of Russian scientists chose and bred less aggressive foxes through successive generations, resulting in docile animals that were somewhat interested in their human captors. This isn’t too surprising, as this is the typical process for domestication, though it will take several hundred generations to solidify traits that are predictably conferred to the next generation.

  But the most surprising result was that the docile foxes were cuter. Their ears were a bit floppy and their muzzles were more rounded. These friendlier adult foxes looked more like cute baby foxes, or kits.

  There are two prevailing theories on how this may have happened. One suggests that the genes that are commonly expressed when immature, for both cuteness and less defensive behavior, are physically linked with one another on the same chromosome and are thus inherited together. The other theory is that it could be a single gene that influences a bunch of others, controlling the expression of sets of genes at different times in development. A similar gene has also b
een found in humans in which a particular mutation confers Williams-Beuren syndrome, which is characterized by elfin features, a shortened nose bridge, and exceptional gregariousness.

  It’s theorized that having a baby-like appearance allows the young to be recognized across the animal kingdom, providing either a basis to recognize and protect the young across species, or signaling dinner. As for the foxes, it will take many more generations to prove the linkage—and unfortunately a lot of discarded animals—but the study of canine domestication is too intriguing for us to ignore. However it happened, our selection of more engaging animals pulled along the genes that laid the foundation for the myriad of dog breeds with characteristics we adore.

  But why so many dog breeds? For better, and unfortunately sometimes for worse, humans are solely responsible for the creation of more than 400 dog breeds; created through artificial selection to serve every imaginable purpose, from the working retrievers and herders, to therapy and guide dogs, to those that provide comfort and companionship. Similarities to some of the oldest domestic dog breeds—pharaoh hounds and Ibizan hounds—appear in Egyptian tomb drawings dating back to 2000 BCE. Bas-reliefs from 150 BCE in China show a hunting dog similar to the chow chow, and the greyhound is believed to be mentioned in the Bible. Modern dog breeds begin to appear in the thirteenth through fifteenth centuries: the poodle in drawings from Germany, the Portuguese water dog in writings of Portuguese monks, and a variety of spaniels in Spanish paintings.

  No other animal connects with us as does the dog. You can’t lie on the couch watching TV with a bunny, or go for a three-day hiking trip with your ferret. And cats? While I haven’t had the pleasure of sharing my life with one, some of my cat-people friends will admit that a cat’s goal in life is not to be there for us. We are here for them.

  But a dog: a dog’s sole purpose is to be by our side. They will wait indefinitely for us and forgive us for the length of our absence. They sleep contentedly at our feet, and they have a way of knowing, especially as they age, how to be exactly what we need at precisely the right moment.