When my Labradoodle Zoé and I set out on the day’s first walk we always begin by rehearsing a scene from a generic gunslinger movie cum obligatory staring contest.
At this early hour Zoé is very reluctant to walk anywhere, maybe still sleepy but more likely, it is a game she deliberately plays to assert herself in our Canine versus Man relationship, now going on 16 years.
Expecting her to follow, I start walking down the cul-de-sac where we live . Both of us walk slowly. When, after a short distance, I look back over my shoulder to check on her progress she is standing in the middle of the road, completely still as if she knew in advance of my intent to turn around and spy on her. Looking at me with a deadpan gaze she says, teeth clenched: “I am not taking another step, this is it!”. After this radical manifesto I do a few encouraging gestures, knowing full well the futility of this effort, before I turn around and continue walking . Three or four times this tableau repeats itself: I turn, she simultaneously freezes, channeling the Marx Brothers mirror scene. Every time with a blank stare and still as a salt pillar. The pantomime of turn-and-freeze continues until we reach the top of the road. Magically, once heading downhill, Zoé’s hostile stare begins to mellow with each performance and eventually she picks up her trot and gradually lets her demonstrative powerplay fade. Finally, by the time we reach the woods she has fully embraced her habitual role and is once again the dog going for a stroll with the dog owner…. At least for now. As she passes me to lead us on the rest of the walk she throws a quick sideways glance saying: “You think you won don’t you? Wrong! I could have done this all day, I just felt sorry for you”.