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Dogs in the Morning
A Definitive Essay
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~ 1 ~

When I was a kid, I loved a song by Pete Seeger, the title of which I can’t recall, but it had this refrain: “All around the kitchen, cock-a-doodle-doodle-do.” I played that record until the needle on my phonograph wore down to a nub. The song was a call-and-response for the human body — Seeger would sing, “You put your right foot out, cock-a-doodle-doodle-do”; “You put your left foot out,” etc. Oh, that song was irresistible! Nowadays, although I’m in my mid-50s and my step-kids are grown, I still sing it. And all I can say is that my dog loves me for it. She gets me, my Labrador girl. She dances right along.

 

~ 2 ~

Her name is “Nira,” my Labrador. She’s a guide dog from Guiding Eyes for the Blind in New York. She’s a light yellow Lab with honey-colored ears, and she tilts her head from side to side when I sing. She loves the Pete Seeger song, but she’s OK with almost anything. I could sing “The Song of the Volga Boatmen” and she’d think it was a good development. This isn’t because she’s naïve or smitten. Her good cheer is a function of the canine genome. Dogs are happy in the morning. They are happy in ways that your spouse and your children are not.

 

~ 3 ~

“Why,” you ask, “are dogs happy in the morning?” You, good reader, are smart, and you’d like some empirical evidence. You’d like it if I wrote something like this: “Studies at the Uppsala Institute for Canine Human Acculturation have shown that dogs have a diurnal endorphin release co-determined by a gene, a doggy gene that pre-dates human agriculture.” (I like this. It makes good sense.) But the truth is that dogs are predators, and all predators wake up happy After all, it’s a whole new day of hunting and eating! Oh yes! Oh yes!

 

~ 4 ~

Back in the age of Aristotle, dogs saw that those humans who got up early and were disposed to singing were the people who had “leftovers.” Aristotle would throw on his stained toga and do a skippy dance because he had cold moussaka in the Agora. There was also calamari under the caryatids. O, look for the singing men in the whirling bed sheets, doggies!

 

~ 5 ~

I am telling the truth. Nowadays if you write nonfiction and tell the truth, readers are liable to think you’re pulling their legs. Nonetheless, dogs love us when we sing at sunrise. They know that cold pizza is in the offing. And since we’re on the subject of nonfiction, let me add that this is the point in the essay where a writer is most likely to lose his or her readers. Many think this dicey moment occurs at the beginning, but really it comes right now. This is because the reader thinks she’s got the point and that’s it. But in the name of all dogs, I challenge you to read on!

 

~ 6 ~

Dogs are not shallow. Dogs are way too sensitive to be short- sighted and small-minded. So yes, they love our cold spanakopita, but they also love our vocalizations. How do I know this? Because I’ve submitted the matter to the scientific method. Now admittedly, my test is too small to warrant a press conference. In fact, I’ve only tested the matter with my own dog and a neighbor’s Poodle. (I’m still seeking funds for a larger study from the National Science Foundation.)

 

~ 7 ~

Now, the Poodle next door (a big Poodle, an American Standard, I think) has never received any leftovers from my hands. Nor has she received any evening leftovers, just to be exact. Picture me in the wet grass, pre-dawn, the houses still dark, picture me dancing and singing to the fluffy, white Poodle I’ll call “Willow”— picture me singing, “All around the kitchen, cock-a-doodle-doodle-do.”

 

~ 8 ~

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