Dog and Cat Tricks

I own two cats and a dog, which I calculate gives me about two and a half pet brains to deal with.

In point of fact, I don't "own" these animals at all. I pay for their food and their vet bills, I clean out litter boxes and feed them and bathe the dog when she has rolled in road kill, but the pets actually belong to my children.

The cats are complex animals who have worked out sophisticated social rules between them, and who pad silently through the house in a never-ending game of Stalk-and-Pounce. The dog knocks over lamps and barks for hours at the ceiling fan. The cats are usually disappointed to see me, feeling their existence would be vastly improved if some fatal mishap would befall me so they could cash in on my life insurance. The dog loves me so heartily that she bounds over to lick my face in wet greeting even when she's only been out of sight for the few moments it took her to drink out of the toilet.

The cats disdainfully inspect the food we put out for them and seem disgusted when it isn't tuna or caviar. The dog eats my shoes.

I have been unable to train the cats to do anything, unless "ignore on command" could be considered a good trick. All I ever wanted them to learn was to stop streaking out the door when it opens, or, once outside, to come when called instead of fleeing out into the neighborhood and forcing the entire family to embark on a cat hunt. When it comes to the dog, I've tried to train it to do all the standard things, like "Sit," "Stay," "Speak," and "Go Outside and Retrieve the Cat." Of these, only "Speak" seems to have taken hold in its puny brain. Now I am trying to teach it "Shut Up." Whenever I try to command it to sit, holding out a morsel of food as bribe, the dog's butt is on the carpet for less than a second before it is barking, leaping to sniff my hands, turning excited circles, and drooling.

So it is with a certain amount of amazement that I've recently observed that the cats have decided, on their own, to take on the task of training the dog.

After my children have fled the dinner table (I am working on training them in the "Clear the Dishes" trick, but they prefer the "It's Not My Job It Is Someone Else's Turn" trick) the cats will leap up and sniff at the remains of the meal, disgusted that human beings can possibly eat anything less expensive than cat food. Then they stare over at the dog, who walks up to the table and sits down like a military K-9--back rigid, head alert, and SILENT. The cats inspect this performance, and, if they deem it worthy, bat down something from one of the plates, a crumb which my dog snatches out of the air like a short stop snagging a line drive. The canine instantly returns to parade rest, and the trick is repeated a few times.

Then the cats glance at each other, a certain smugness in their expression, like skating coaches who have seen their protege finally execute that triple axel. The dog watches, sensing what is coming. The cats nod and the canine rises in a motion I have never even attempted to teach her, a perfect "Sit Up," with paws held motionless in the air in front of her face.

The cats have taught the dog to pray to them.

With feline patience, they make the dog remain frozen in position for at least ten seconds before snaking a paw out and pitching another morsel into the canine's mouth.

That's the end of the dog show, for now. The cats jump down and the dog returns to normal, literally shaking herself out of the spell and coming over to see whether slobbering on me will entice me to feed her.

Next time the dog chews up one of my shoes, I'm not going bother to punish her.

I'm just going to tell the cats about it.


copyright 2005 W. Bruce Cameron