Born to Bark by Stanley Coren Read Free Book Online Page A

were recorded by John Steinbeck, the Nobel Prize–winning author who wrote about a trip across the United States with his black standard poodle in
Travels with Charley
. In truth, the book could just as well have been titled
Conversations with Charley
. A sample of one such conversation occurred when he found Charley simply staring blankly off into space. Steinbeck began the following bit of dialogue and provided both parts of the conversation, presumably out loud:
    “What’s the matter, Charley, aren’t you well?”
His tail slowly waved with his replies.
“Oh, yes. Quite

well, I guess.”

“Why didn’t you come when I whistled?”
“I didn’t hear you whistle.”

“What are you staring at?”
“I don’t know. Nothing, I guess.”

“Well, don’t you want your dinner?”
“I’m really not hungry. But I’ll go through the motions.”
    And some quite hilarious conversations are featured in A. R. Gurney’s popular play,
Sylvia
, in which the dog Sylvia speaks clearly to her owner about many big and small matters, although only her owner (and the audience) understands her. Many of my discussions with Penny were like those in
Travels
with Charley
. I would say something to her and then give her answer in a voice that mimicked that of the Disney cartoon character Goofy. I have given every dog that I have spoken to its own unique voice. I have no idea why I chose that particular voice for Penny, especially since many of our conversations were fairly deep and personal, and many of the comments that I filled in for her in that silly voice were emotion-laden and the suggested actions often had important personal consequences. Perhaps I chose Penny’s voice because at one level I still considered the idea of intense personalconversations with a dog to be “goofy,” or perhaps to keep matters light and to remind me that “the dog’s comments” were not to be interpreted as commands or requirements for action. To an eavesdropper, such conversations would probably sound as if I had lost my mind, so I always closed the door before Penny and I “talked.”

    Immediately following my graduation from high school, I entered the army, which took me to Fort Knox, Kentucky, for basic training, and then to Fort Monmouth, New Jersey, for training as a still photographer. My coursework scores and my evaluations as a photographer were very good, and I soon found myself being sent out on various interesting photographic assignments for the army’s Public Information Office. This took me around the country and allowed me to meet a large number of interesting people and their dogs.
    According to my mother, Penny had been quite upset at my leaving. She would spend long hours upstairs guarding my room and barring entry to anyone except my mother. She refused to sleep anywhere else but on her pillow by my bed, and if her way into my room was blocked, she would set up a howl until she was allowed inside. However, matters did change a bit with a new arrival in our family.
    By the time that I returned home to restart my civilian life, my youngest brother Arthur had been born and was now an unsteady toddler wandering around the house. In my absence Penny had adopted Arthur, and her maternal instincts caused her to act as a protective shield around him. One day Arthur grabbed the electrical cord attached to a ceramic table lamp, and when he tugged, it toppled to the floor, breaking into several large chunks.

    My brother Dennis, who was in the room, shouted, “Arthur, get away from there!” as he leapt from his seat and dashed across the room to try to keep his brother from cutting himself on the broken pottery. To Penny, however, his loud vocalization and sudden movement toward “her child” looked like an attack, so she vaulted from her position to interpose her body between Dennis and Arthur. When Dennis reached for my brother, she produced a low grumbling growl and then used her head and blunt muzzle to move Arthur toward the