Anthropomorphizing?

Over the past decade and a half, I've been paying a lot of attention to animals, especially dogs – living with them and working with them. In the process, I read a lot, trying to create better relationships with my own dogs and provide better help to my clients with their dogs through improved understanding of the health, training, and social needs of our canine companions.

Repeatedly, the subject of anthropomorphism comes up; with the inference that to engage in this behavior – to ascribe human motivations or feelings to animal actions – is one of the seven deadly sins. Writers or scientists who purport to ascertain the meanings of animal behaviors , especially ascribing emotion to them, have been labeled immature, overly sensitive, and biased by their own emotion. This leaves everyone who wants to be taken seriously on the subject of animals overly cautious, lest they be seen as ruled by their subjective heart, instead of controlled by their supposedly objective head.

I think the main reason dogs and people have forged a ten-thousand-year-old bond of companionship is born of the very fact that the canid family is much like us in several ways. Even though we humans can't pin our ears back to our heads and the whites of our eyes always show, we understand these expressions because we're wired to use facial expression and body language to communicate. We humans prattle endlessly with our mouths, shaping our teeth, tongues, and lips into words and dogs are not so good at that (though god knows, Nicholai tries); still, pitch and tone of voice tell things about our emotional state and can give comfort or raise alarm. We humans have the upper hand in manipulation of tools due to the wonderful opposable thumb, but canines can smell early disease states, changes in hormone levels, or the approach of dinner – two valleys over. While we differ, canines and humans found each other, and stayed together, because it serves us both. We are similar as much as we are different, we fit.

What if humans had tried to form working relationships with field mice? Mice are cute little mammalian creatures, but if I tried to share my life with one, I would forever be at risk of crushing the life out of it with one misstep. If I wanted cues about its state of being, I'd have to grab my glasses, huddle down on the floor, and attempt to make sense of its rapidly twitching nose and tiny darting eyes. If I tried to take one on a walk (and I didn't step on it) the poor little mouse would be forever ducking into holes for cover from the very hawks I so admire.

Deer are aesthetically pleasing with soft eyes, wet noses, and large ears, but as prey animals they are necessarily flighty and elusive. While I see myself as kind and gentle, and for a long time identified with the stealthy does, I belong to a predatory species and the deer is at risk from me and my kind, setting up a natural barrier between us.

And imagine if for some reason, we'd aligned with the lowly housefly. If I could get past a housefly's alien appearance and the fact that it starts out as a maggot, I would have only fifteen days before my six-legged companion bit the dust.

Canines make good human companions. They are good in size, shape, and speed of movement. They can walk by our sides and curl up by us at night. We can both enjoy a good steak, a slice of pizza, or fresh blackberries off the vine. Sometimes, when we humans ascribe motivations or emotional states to our companion animals – "That's my dog's happy face," or "He's scared of you," – we're not anthropomorphizing. Hard wired from birth to read those cues, we don't have to. We know.