The experts have a name for attributing human characteristics to animals, and they claim it’s just a figment of our ego that makes us inclined to do so. But the experts never lived in my house.
I suppose it’s partly due to cabin fever on the part of animals and humans, or maybe we are just easily amused, but the four leggeds in residence are developing habits that remind me for all the world of when my kids were growing up. The cats hang around the door begging the dogs to come out and play, and when they give up and move on, Ruby begs to go find her companions. She and Stormy, the grey tomcat, go on a stroll to see what trouble they can stir up. He walks under her belly and sits down in front of her when he wants to stop for a break. The yellow females sit beside Ruby on the porch and snuggle, aware that Ruby knows how to open the deck door and let herself in, so one or more of the cats can sneak in to hide until discovered and put out. Ruby sees that as unfair, and wants to go join them, but immediately opens the door and everyone comes back in. Ruby knows better than to chase the cats, and they know she isn’t going to hurt them, but they still have to engage in an up the tree chase occasionally.
Tara is sneaky. She steals a toy that Ruby wants, and then lies down on it. Doesn’t want to play, just doesn’t want her sister to have that item. Ruby lies nearby and cries pitifully, unwilling to be comforted, or distracted with another toy. When the tables are turned, Ruby flaunts the item in question, as if to say, Nah, nah, nah, nah, and Tara barks unceasingly.
If my kids, engaged in that sort of squabble, I just took away the toy in question and put it up for a day. But these two just go find another toy to argue about.
When my youngest began school, our dog of the moment would get an item of his clothing out of the laundry and lie with it until he came home. We once had a Husky that never got on the furniture until she knew I was about to sit in the recliner for an hour of quiet after supper. Then she appropriated that chair and couldn’t be persuaded to settle anywhere else. If I made her leave she just sat down and stared at me, hoping I’d feel guilty.
We had a milk cow that never stepped in the bucket until it was three quarters full, so the whole thing needed dumped. Our half-Arab horse could open any gate in the corral, and I recall guarding the gate while Ahab outwaited me. I knew if I moved to get a rope and tie the gate shut, he would open it and be gone before I got back, and he knew I’d have to move eventually.
It’s evident who are the smartest residents around here, but I don’t mind being outsmarted because it makes me laugh. I’m in favor of anything that does that.