Ten things that man’s best friend could do better

Dogs are almost perfect, better than humans, of course, and vastly superior to cats, goldfish and rabbits. But there are some things that dogs could do better: mine and maybe yours.

1. Do dogs really need to follow you from room to room, all day, every day, in the expectation that you’ll do something interesting?
   The poor human feels the burden of this endless optimism. Up the corridor you go, faithful friend following behind and into the kitchen. Your dog is thinking: “Midnight feast, perchance?” “A late-night game in the backyard? Don’t mind if I do”. “Curling up on the couch to watch an engrossing movie?” But no, you simply place a dirty coffee cup into the sink, after which you head back down the corridor, your faithful friend once again following your every move. The dog is now thinking: “He’s heading to the laundry. Wow. I wonder what he’s going to do in there? I bet it’s something really amazing”. “Oh”, he then thinks, “Not amazing at all”. Only by viewing your life through the eyes of your dog do you realise the limited nature of the excitement.
2. Can’t they take a bit more time with their food?
   I’ve never understood the term “dog’s breakfast” as it implies that dogs are messy with their food, throwing it this way and that, then picking through it like finicky toddlers. No so. In truth, the food is inhaled in one violent motion. There’s not a speck left. The bowl is so clean you could use it to serve petit fours to the Queen. It’s gone so fast that even the dog stares at the bowl in disbelief: “Hey, where did that food all go? There was heaps there a second ago.” Sometimes, I prepare Clancy a tasty meal of chicken boiled with rice. I don’t expect praise for my culinary skills, but I’d like the process of consumption to take more than two-thirds of a second.
3. Could they be less suspicious of people walking on the footpath outside?
   Clancy doesn’t bark much, but he still does do a full-on performance of imminent peril. He stands in the corridor, ears rotating like radar dishes, hackles raised, legs quivering, nose sniffing. Based on his appearance, one assumes a Martian invasion. The actual cause is a single 12-year-old on his way to school. I’m unwilling to vouch for the lad, that’s true, but I believe he is fully in his rights to make use of the footpath.
4. Why do dogs need to circle the spot three times before they sit down?
   I know this is a throwback to their life on the savannah, and they are tramping down the “grass” to make the spot more comfortable. But, mate, it’s carpet. Or floorboards. It’s already flat. We’ve all got an evolutionary past, but you don’t see me heading into the backyard with an axe and an urge need to hunt some bison.
5. Is all the digging necessary?
   We have a lovely lawn. Sorry, correction, we had a lovely lawn. Then came Clancy. Who’s he sponsored by? Caterpillar bulldozers? Komatsu backhoes? And why can’t he choose a discrete spot up the back, not the water feature he’s installed in front of the back door?
6. Could they dial down the selective hearing?
   Open a cheese packet, and Clancy comes running from the other end of the house. The tiny “click” of the plastic lid is like an alarm, summoning him to action. I’m sure he could hear it five blocks away. By contrast, the words “Outside now”, when spoken on a chilly evening, have him looking up with the sadness of an old-age pensioner tragically suffering total hearing loss. “Sorry”, say his eyes, “I’ve no idea what you are saying.“
7. Do they need to sniff every tree and every electricity pole as you make your way home?
   Yes, I understand this is how they receive messages from other dogs; it’s their version of the postal service, and each tree is both a pick-up point and a spot to leave their RSVP. Or should that be RSV-wee? Nonetheless, now that Australia Post is only delivering every second day, I think the dogs could, in sympathy, reduce their expectations.
8. When they want to chew a book, a pair of socks or a shoe, why is it always your favourite one?
   Just asking for a friend.
9. When their water bowl is empty, why can’t they just let loose a quiet bark?
   Is it really necessary to use their front paw to upend the bowl so that it clatters across the floor? It reminds me of the novelist Kingsley Amis, who, keen for a rapid second drink at a party, would drop his wine glass so that it noisily hit the floor. “Oh”, he’d say, “Thank god it was empty.” Clancy seems to have perfected the same manoeuvre.
10. Also, the main complaint: why don’t they live longer?
    Dogs are so wonderful they really should be with us for life.