The Mirror Test - Aug 21 2026

 

The Mirror Test

Aug 21 2026

The mirror test —

when a higher animal

sees its reflection

and comprehends “self”.

My dogs do no such thing.

They bark

peer behind

smear the glass with slop,

as they do the front window

when the mailman walks up.

They act like my children 

yet still know they’re dogs.

Light up when they see another,

either growling, glaring and baring their teeth,

or straining against the leash

and wagging their tails

eager to play.

Their sense of dogginess is innate;

they’ve never seen themselves

yet know their kind

are sure what they are.

While I have spent a lifetime 

trying to find myself.

I understand mirrors.

I know my genus

and that I’m sapien.

I have a first and last name.

Yet don’t recognize myself

in those around me,

feel unseen

and often apart.

I see my reflection in mirrored glass

with another at my back. 

The image recedes

figure shrinks

facial features blur.

A mirror test 

in which I see myself

getting smaller and smaller

until I disappear.  

Today’s “First Person” essay in the Globe was about a generic looking baby bird a child finds abandoned on a beach and takes home. It’s raised in a chicken coop with the laying hens and turns out to be a seagull. Toward the end of the piece, the author writes this line: “A seagull who was raised in a chicken coop still knew who she was.” (My italics.)

Which immediately reminded me of my dogs:  how they’ve only seen me — the all-powerful provider and master of their universe — and never seen themselves (although, of course, have seen each other), yet react so strongly to other dogs while ignoring people. They know they’re dogs. There is no confusion about their identity, their kind. It seems as innate as their drive to eat, reproduce, and groom themselves.

We, on the other hand, overthink everything. It’s all ambiguous, all existential angst:  meaning, purpose, and death; even personal identity.