Dogs Chose Us

The noble Catahoula in her natural habitat: hiding under the kitchen table in the
 hope someone will drop bacon.

We share our house with a red wolf / mastiff hybrid known as a Catahoula Leopard - the state dog of Louisiana. I say share our house because she isn't a pet. Starla is a member of our family, although she would most likely argue we're actually part of her pack.

She's a powerful dog, a little over a hundred pounds of muscle with inch long fangs and curious webbed feet. She has hooked claws for climbing trees. Ranchers use Catahoulas to herd cattle, hunters use them to track bear and wild boar.

We use her to fetch rubber balls, sticks, and to play tug of war with pieces of rope.

She's a sweet natured gentle giant. Sometimes we play tug of war and she'll accidentally touch my hand with one of those inch long fangs - it gives you pause. When she senses this, what follows is a deluge of slobbery licks, "Didn't hurt you, did I?"

Given her sweet nature, I wondered what kind of protection she would be. Shortly after getting her from the rescue, I got my answer.

I took her for a walk one night near our home. The park was dark and deserted, and I noticed she seemed very vigilant. On the way back, a guy on a motorcycle pulled up to the park walkway. He was talking on his cellphone and clearly having a bad night from the words he was using.

Starla watched him as we passed, looking back over her shoulder as we walked.

We were about fifty yards away when he evidently heard something on the phone he really didn't like: he threw his helmet on the asphalt path and it made a very loud cracking sound.

I turned, not knowing what to expect. The guy was walking away in the opposite direction - no danger to us.

To Starla, however, this was a different story. She had turned, putting herself between me and him. Her muscles were tensed, hair on her back standing straight up, head low, ears back, fangs bared. The sound echoing from her chest was something akin to a diesel locomotive.

The wolf had come out, and she was ready to rumble.

I knelt down beside her, scratched her ears till she calmed down. Good dog, very good dog.

When I'm at work, I don't have to worry about my family's safety. The wolf's not at the door, she's behind it. She has licks and nuzzles for her pack, but the wolf doesn't take any crap.

The question came to my mind: why? What makes this descendant of the wolf want to be near us, form packs with us within days if not hours? They're stronger than us and better equipped to defend themselves. Their senses are sharper. A little more brain capacity and opposable thumbs, they'd be pouring their own kibble.

So, why us? Scientists tell us wolves were domesticated between 15,000 to 33,000 years ago. One of the leading theories is they were curious about us. We had warm fires, we weren't half bad at forming packs ourselves, and sometimes we drop our food - heck, occasionally, we even give it to them on purpose.

In short, dogs chose us. Every other animal we've domesticated in some fashion, but dogs chose us.

It's a mutually beneficial relationship. They help us hunt, keep us safe, work with us, and keep us entertained. We throw the ball and occasionally drop bacon.

Many of you will scoff, certain that we domesticated dogs just like we did cows, pigs, and chickens. And, maybe there's some truth to that. But, if so, they domesticated us right back.

Dogs are used everywhere as therapy dogs for ailments ranging from PTSD to epilepsy to panic attacks. You see, we have a very curious reaction when we're part of a dog's pack: we calm down, our heart rate lowers, and our overall brain chemistry gets better. Sometime over the last thirty millennia, we became part of a symbiotic relationship.

So, the next time you're sitting with your schnauzer, poodle, mutt, or goofy Catahoula leopard - just remember you might have chosen them, but they chose you as well. You're part of their pack and you can learn a thing or two from them: play a little, love a little, protect your family with your fangs bared, and keep your eyes open for dropped bacon.

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