Who's master?

Dog owners believe that some dogs are masters at pursuing their prey. It’s the genetic pattern. The retriever dogs like the Labrador and the Golden deserve applause for their search and rescue behaviors. My Greyhound/Doberman mix can spy a squirrel, recognize it as prey and initiate a chase almost simultaneously. Dog owners also believe that a dog can only answer to one master so they enter obedience classes that purport to teach canines who’s boss with important words and phrases as instruments of mastery. Some Labs and Newfound lands get the messages. My black Newf, Snowbound, never chose to obey the command, "Come back here;" he just strayed. And Savannah, my mutt, has never wasted a nano-second musing over my preference when she runs after a hapless cat, rabbit, raccoon, woodchuck or squirrel. Some dogs hunt by sight; others by smell; all dogs originally hunted. When did four- legged masters of their fate relinquish control to human alpha dogs? I suggest - never.

John Grogan never mastered his dog, Marley, that he writes about in his best selling book. I never managed to contol the genetic impulses of any of my canine friends (or some time enemies of an ordered, peaceful co-existence). One bad dog couldn’t sit or stay if another dog came into view. His wiring called for a pursuit to kill. This bad dog also wouldn’t sit but rather stood and scratched with his front paws to his heart’s single-minded intent to open a door and either escape from or enter a room. I can tick off a half-dozen door panels that bear permanent scratch marks about 24 inches from the floor. Escaping from restraint and loneliness was as compelling to him as entering a room where children giggled and played offering him satisfying human contact. This bad dog hated other dogs; this same good dog loved his pack. Yet to this dog no man was master. In spite of the fact that they are mastered by their genes, domesticated dogs fill voids in human hearts. They fill unmet needs. They master our fates in mysterious ways.