The Watcher

A few moments ago I sent my sweet 32 pound dog - who for many reasons I call Foxy - outdoors to do her morning business in the back yard. It's a cool sunlight early morning in Fort Worth, Texas. I am sitting at my computer and can turn to watch the patio over my shoulder when I wish. Intermittent breezes move branches in short arcs up and down, artistically partially obscuring the view of the brightly sunlit Church parking lot a short distance away.

My dog sits on the patio right outside my bedroom observing the world. Her haunches are placed unmoving on the concrete as her head moves almost constantly to focus her eyes towards the backyard. Her perky ears move left, right, even backwards to focus on the sounds around her. Her long pointed muzzle points her black nose towards whatever smells she perceives, something that as a smell-blind human I can never comprehend. As I watcher her nose twitch I vaguely wonder what is in that world that I'll never know.

Her head jerks suddenly to focus everything in a different direction. She pauses as something becomes the focus of her attention. It's nothing that I can see or hear - forget smell. The moment passes. It must be gone now, or irrelevant. She is looking at other things again.

Without warning she stands and walks smoothly to the left towards the gate in the chain link fence which I cannot see on the other side of the garage. From there she can look South past the garage towards the street. She clearly heard something interesting that demanded investigation. I heard nothing. She is out of my sight for a moment looking south through the fence.

She reverses course, trots across the yard to my right and out of my sight. She'll be able to see what is happening to the South from the other side of the house.

It's a few short moments later, and whatever had caught Foxy's attention is either gone or is of no more interest. She walks briskly back to the patio, turns north to again look out over the back yard and this time, still alertly watching, listening, smelling what is out there, lies down on the patio concrete. I wonder what she hears and smells in the world she is watching. Everything she does is focused on watching.

I am sitting at my computer, occasionally turning my head to watch Foxy over my shoulder. The radio spouts the morning news from Weekend Edition Saturday. I turn to the latest news from the Alaska Senate election on my computer. Then I glance back at Foxy on the patio. She is again sitting, head shifting constantly, listening, watching, smelling - totally focused as different things catch her attention. In a few moments I'll set out her food and call her inside. She is an indoors dog, after all.

It's kind of Foxy to share parts of her world with me. She probably just assumes that I am a big dumb alpha dog who doesn't get a lot of it. If she thinks that, she's not wrong. I wonder what she gets back out of my world besides regular meals, occasional treats, a warm place to sleep, some petting and occasional walks with me? Does she recognize the familiar voices from National Public Radio as I do?

The world is much larger than either of us can be aware. We need each other.