Cute Brown Dog
My cute brown dog
has no category for colour
no use for judging.
She caught her reflection, the other day
and made a bee-line
for the adjacent room,
sniffing out
this strange canine intruder.
So she doesn't grasp physics.
Is mercifully free
of vanity.
But more than that, has absolutely no idea
what she looks like;
that she is embodied, at all.
Because she never questions
herself.
She exists unselfconsciously,
all her senses
extending out into the world,
But more than that, has absolutely no idea
what she looks like;
that she is embodied, at all.
Because she never questions
herself.
She exists unselfconsciously,
all her senses
extending out into the world,
as existentially pure
as a Buddhist monk.
If she assumes anything, it must be she looks like me.
Because this is how we are, and have always been;
the two of us
as far back as she remembers,
best of buddies
2 puppies at heart.
One who is slower, taller
often perplexing.
And the other
the one in charge.
as a Buddhist monk.
If she assumes anything, it must be she looks like me.
Because this is how we are, and have always been;
the two of us
as far back as she remembers,
best of buddies
2 puppies at heart.
One who is slower, taller
often perplexing.
And the other
the one in charge.
Are dolphins the only animal that recognize their own
reflection? Elephants, probably. Primates, I'm not sure. But this sense of self
-- this self-aware individuality, this grasp of agency playing out in the glass
-- is clearly a sign of higher intelligence.
So it's no surprise that dogs don't get mirrors. And while I admire her lack of vanity, I've always recognized that it's more about her limitations than any moral choice. But before this incident, I never truly realized that she has absolutely no idea what she looks like. I suppose I always assumed that she must imagine she's pretty similar to the dogs with whom she plays. After all, she sees them, and sees her own four legs, her tail; scratches her ears and licks her unmentionables. But on thinking deeper, I realize she imagines nothing: because there is no category in her worldview, her intelligence, her cognitive framework for such a mental exercise to be either worthwhile or meaningful. "Imagining" is not the business of dogs. And perhaps this is even more admirable than a lack of vanity: because there is something pure about such an utter lack of introspection and existential angst; about simply living with serene unquestioning acceptance. ...All of which is a wordy way of saying what we all know and love: that dogs live in the moment.
And then I thought -- as it says in the poem -- that if anything, she must think she looks like me. Because I have always been there, and we have always been inseparable. As am I in our world, so too must she.
How unfortunate, if she feels this way. Because she is a gorgeous chocolate Lab; and I'm ...well, a middle aged guy -- enough said! One who does a lot of strange perplexing things, at least from a dog's point of view: cleaning house, picking up poo, sitting in front of the TV. Nominally in charge; but not really. Which is one thing I suspect she does know: one flash of those puppy eyes, and I melt!
So it's no surprise that dogs don't get mirrors. And while I admire her lack of vanity, I've always recognized that it's more about her limitations than any moral choice. But before this incident, I never truly realized that she has absolutely no idea what she looks like. I suppose I always assumed that she must imagine she's pretty similar to the dogs with whom she plays. After all, she sees them, and sees her own four legs, her tail; scratches her ears and licks her unmentionables. But on thinking deeper, I realize she imagines nothing: because there is no category in her worldview, her intelligence, her cognitive framework for such a mental exercise to be either worthwhile or meaningful. "Imagining" is not the business of dogs. And perhaps this is even more admirable than a lack of vanity: because there is something pure about such an utter lack of introspection and existential angst; about simply living with serene unquestioning acceptance. ...All of which is a wordy way of saying what we all know and love: that dogs live in the moment.
And then I thought -- as it says in the poem -- that if anything, she must think she looks like me. Because I have always been there, and we have always been inseparable. As am I in our world, so too must she.
How unfortunate, if she feels this way. Because she is a gorgeous chocolate Lab; and I'm ...well, a middle aged guy -- enough said! One who does a lot of strange perplexing things, at least from a dog's point of view: cleaning house, picking up poo, sitting in front of the TV. Nominally in charge; but not really. Which is one thing I suspect she does know: one flash of those puppy eyes, and I melt!
No comments:
Post a Comment