I have often thought that dogs must be some of the most superstitious creatures on this planet. Think about it; they are domesticated, which means they rely on us, these funny two-legged apes, for pretty much everything. Yet we share no common language, so even if we could be bothered, there’s no way to explain to them why we treat them as we do. Thus, they place tremendous signficance on the most trivial actions and behaviors. The jingle of their collar means “time for walkies”; the sound of the television turning off, bedtime; the sound of the blinds in our office, some interesting creature must be outside (and off she goes, like a smoke detector, “woof! woof! woof!”, charging to the backdoor to scare off the Evil Beasts in the Shadows.)

Roni, having come from a shelter, has bonded strongly to us and is very good at providing feedback about her moods. In response, we have developed little rituals, things we do to avoid upsetting her. If we’re going to be leaving the house, she likes to hear her collar jingle. If we’re going on a road trip, we make sure she sees her bed being packed so she knows she’s coming along. And Heaven forbid we should actually have to leave her behind! As we pack, Roni will slink off to her bed, head held down, and glare at us as though we’re the most wicked beings she’s ever met.

Fortunately we also have our little “happy time” rituals too. If I walk Roni into town to get a haircut or sandwich (for me, not her!) she’ll wait outside the shop door until I emerge, and immediately start squirming in anticipation of my putting her leash on. Which is hard for her because she knows she needs to sit for that, but really, she just wants to jump around like a silly, little idiot. But, with leash on, she knows she gets to play tug-of-war with me as we walk the first block or two towards home. It’s fun, it makes her happy, I get a grin out of it, and I suspect gives a chuckle or two to anyone who happens to be walking by. And so these patterns develop.

Another ritual, which is simultaneously happy and disgusting, is the “morning love-fest”. Being an early riser, I’ll often get up in the wee-hours and work in the office for a while. When I return to bed a few hours later, Roni will jump up and start licking my face. I, with lips tightly pressed together to avoid an otherwise far too intimate moment, suffer through it. About the time I’m ready to gasp for air, Roni will head-butt me in the chest to let me know she wants her neck rubbed. So I rub until she decides it’s time to go back to the face licking. Back and forth lick, lick, lick, rub, rub, rub… it really is pretty disgusting; I have to wipe a healthy amount of slobber off my face repeatedly, and I protest loudly about all of this to Christene, who listens rather unsympathetically. Which leads to my point here …

Because try as Christene might, Roni is rarely interested in giving her the same treatment. Oh, sure, Chris might get a few token licks, but then it’s back to me for more of the Real Deal ™. Christene has on occasion taken this as a mild form of rejection, and being the cruel bastard I am, I’ll egg Roni on that much more to rub it in. “Oh, who loves you, snooky-wookums? That’s right, daddy loves you! Come give daddy a kiss.” etc., etc… Yeah, I know it’s annoying to talk like that, but Chris really is cute when she’s angry.

Unfortunately Karma works and the Cosmic Balance re-aligns. Chris has discovered the likely Truth behind all of this, and didn’t hesitate to point it out to me this morning…

“You know there’s only two things Roni licks that much, so they must taste about the same. And she was licking the other one before you came back to bed.”

*sigh* Anyone want a kiss?