Robert B. Simpson: Intruder from another land

You may, as do I, practice anthropomorphism. Don't worry, it just means we ascribe human motives and thought processes to animals. While scientific evidence is lacking, I have bought into the idea on the basis of anecdotal evidence alone and now consider myself a full-fledged anthropomorphist, if there is such a word. That is, I no longer have the slightest doubt that our animal pets are basically small, hairy humans. My two Yorkshire Terriers, Simon and Samson, have convinced me. I observe them a lot, and they are the personification of two willful, stubborn, opinionated, sometimes likeable persons.

I try to be unemotional and non-authoritarian when I counsel them on the error of their ways. They appear to listen intently, but then they walk away and commit the same errors all over again. Recently I've been trying to get them mentally prepared for Christmas. I carefully explain, once again, the secular aspects of it, like the gifts and decorations and food. They seem to be listening, but I can't be sure how much they'll retain. I've explained to them several times that their relative, Louie, will be visiting them again. Louie is my daughter Stacey's 11-month-old Havanese puppy. His small body is swathed in masses of long, chocolate-colored hair, and he is a bundle of unending joyfulness, eager to greet the day, eager to learn new things, eager to play with Simon and Samson.

Simon and Samson despise Louie. When I take them to the vet or to the kennel, they try to drag me around the place while they delightedly greet any dog in sight. They love people and they love other dogs. Except Louie. When he bounds into the room and skids to a stop in front of them, quivering with eagerness to play, they react with rage.

I think they view Louie as an undocumented immigrant. He is, after all, a member of the breed that is the national dog of Cuba, hence the name. (Not the name "Louie," the name "Havanese.") He doesn't look like the two Yorkies, being of much darker hue. His bark sounds different. And here he is, as they see it, on their territory, not invited by them, probably likely to eat their food and take over some of their responsibilities, even those they fail to fulfill now. They're sure he'll receive unearned benefits that they are due because, well, because they were here first.

I've tried to make them understand that Louie is a bright, energetic, valuable addition to American dog society, and that if he were planning to stay right here in their territory, which he is not, he could add a lot of pleasure to their daily lives. They could learn a lot from him, I tell them, if they would just get past the thought that he is not like them and must therefore be inferior. Not wanting to damage their self-esteem, I have so far avoided pointing out that Louie is actually far more intelligent than they are. He understands and responds to basic commands, runs through tunnels, jumps over barriers, dances, and then stands poised, ready to learn whatever else his owner chooses for him. Simon and Samson, on the other hand, understand basic commands but mostly choose to ignore them. They understand and respond vigorously to "supper," "treat," and "truck ride." They understand but generally ignore "come here," "stay," and "don't you dare wet that chair leg again."

Since I'm convinced that they think and act pretty much the way we persons do, I should probably give up on trying to make them accept this little immigrant. They've made up their minds, and facts won't change them.

Gee, they seem so human.

Robert B. Simpson, a 28-year Infantry veteran who retired as a colonel at Fort Benning, is the author of "Through the Dark Waters: Searching for Hope and Courage."

This story was originally published December 19, 2015 at 12:00 AM with the headline "Robert B. Simpson: Intruder from another land ."