Inside of a Dog_ What Dogs See, Smell, and Know - Alexandra Horowitz [100]
But by suiting up animals with critter-cams we are mostly getting an idea of their vantage on the world, not their entire umwelt. With most if not all wild animals, only by taking such a vantage may we have any information about their world, their day: we can't keep up with a diving penguin as a camera strapped to its back can; only an inconspicuous camera could capture the tunnel building of a naked mole rat underground. To watch Stanley from the vantage of his back is to be surprised at the view. There is the temptation, though, to think that by capturing a picture of Stanley's day we have completed the imaginative exercise. It is but the beginning.
… It is lickable …
She is lying on the ground, head between paws, and notices something potentially interesting or edible a short stretch away on the floor. She pulls her head forward to it, her nose—that beautiful, robust, moist nose—nearly but not quite in the particle. I can see her nostrils working to identify it. She gives a wet snort and brings her mouth to aid in the investigation: by turning her head ever-so-slightly on an angle her tongue reaches the floor. She test-licks it with quick swipes, then straightens up and sets to a more serious posture from which to lick, lick, lick the floor—long strokes with the fullness of her tongue.
Nearly everything is lickable. A spot on the floor, a spot on herself; the hand of a person, the knee of a person, the toes of a person, the face, ears, and eyes of a person; a tree trunk, a bookshelf; the car seat, the sheets; the floor, the walls, the all. Unidentifiables on the ground are especially ripe for tonguing. This is revealing, for licking—bringing molecules into oneself, not merely taking a distant safe stance toward them—is an extremely intimate gesture. Not that dogs mean to be intimate. But to be so directly in contact with the world, intentionally or not, is to define oneself differently with respect to one's environment than humans do: it is to find less of a barrier at the edge of one's own skin or fur from that which surrounds it. No wonder it is not unusual to see a dog duck his head fully into a mud puddle or twist his supine body in exaltation of spirit and the rank earth.
The dog's sense of personal space reflects this intimacy with the environment. All animals have a sense of comfortable social distance, the breaching of which causes clashes and the stretching of which they try to contain. While Americans balk at strangers standing closer than eighteen inches, American dogs' personal space is approximately zero to one inches. Repeating itself on sidewalks across the country this very second is a scene that demonstrates the clash of our senses of personal space: the sight of two dog owners as they stand six feet apart, straining to keep their leashed dogs from touching, while the dogs strain mightily to touch each other. Let them touch! They greet strangers by getting into each other's space, not staying out of it. Let them get into each other's fur, sniff deeply, and mouth each other in greeting. It is not for dogs the safe distance of a handshake.
As we have a limit to the proximity of others we'll endure, we also have a limit to the distance we prefer: a kind of social space. Sitting over five or six feet apart makes for an uncomfortable conversation. Walking on opposite sides of the street, we do not feel we are walking together. Dogs' social space is more elastic. Some dogs happily walk in parallel but at great, owner-distressing distances from their owners; others like to trot at your heels. This extends to their sense of fit with us, resting at home. Dogs have their own version of enjoying the pleasantness of a book that fits closely but not too tightly into a box. Pump wanted to sit so that her body was cupped by the embrace of a small upholstered chair. She would fill the space created by my bent legs when lying on my side in bed. Other dogs position themselves with the length of their backs against the length of a sleeping body. The pleasure of this alone