A dog's life (Hypothèse 85)

He told himself that the famous dog's life was truly a paradise: they had nothing to understand, nothing to decide, just to enjoy the present, the perfect carpe diem.

Translation of : Hypothèse 85 : Une vie de chien. Philippe Gouillou. Evoweb. Vendredi 12 janvier 2024

He watched his dog play. He'd called it “Futon”, as Lia had thought it up. As always, it was a good idea: it was quite different from all the usual commands, sit, down,..., and besides, nobody on the street was likely to call himself that. Dog games are really very basic: they pretend to fight, that's all, and then they go on and on. He told himself that the famous “dog life” was really a paradise: they had nothing to understand, nothing to decide, just to enjoy the present, the perfect carpe diem. And they were fed, housed, cared for, all for nothing.

He looked at the message Lia had just sent him: it would be Madrid after all, not Rome, he didn't know why. In fact, he had secretly hoped it would be Rome, a city that fascinated him, but if Lia had chosen Madrid, she was right, he knew, so he didn't worry. Of course, he could rebel, go to Rome in spite of everything, he knew Lia wouldn't reproach him in the slightest, but he also knew that every time he'd done it he'd regretted it, in fact he'd punished himself. It was better for him to follow Lia's advice. He didn't reply to the message, what was the point? Lia had already chosen the flight, the hotel, and taken care of all the practical details, even the heavy admistrative declarations, so he had nothing to think about.

Futon didn't have the cognitive capacity to judge for himself, the world was too complex. He had, however, given him the illusion, and it had worked very well. He remembered that Paul Watzlawick wrote that a rat who thought he'd trained his experimenter well because every time he pressed the lever, the experimenter fed him, would be making a “punctuation error” - he'd misunderstood who the master was. The dog, like all living beings, seeks to “control the resources that support life and reproduction”, as Dave Geary wrote. So, if the dog believed that by obeying he was gaining control, that it was he who had decided, then he would obey voluntarily, the punctuation error was perfect. For example, he had noticed that after teaching his dog to sit, it would do so on its own to get a reward. Well, instead of not encouraging him, as he'd been told, he'd decided to support him: Futon really believed he was controlling him, Futon really believed he was the master.

He also used another trick to train him: surprise. For example, one day, when Futon was still a puppy, instead of taking him to the park to play with his friends as he did every day, he took him down little streets Futon didn't know. Of course, the dog kept pulling to get back to the park; he didn't want to follow. But after 10 minutes, surprise: Futon had found his favorite friend. It only took 3 or 4 such “surprises” for Futon never to balk again when he took him elsewhere than planned, and to follow him everywhere. Now he had an excellent recall, although, as he'd read, it was the hardest thing to teach this so-called decision-making breed.

He received another message from Lia: she'd booked him in for dinner tonight. It really wasn't what he'd planned, he wanted to go to bed early, but he didn't reply, he was titillated by the surprise she'd concocted for him.

He had just under two hours to go. Futon was still playing, still running, still enjoying the present. He kept asking himself the same question: how, with such a small brain, could Futon do so many different things? No robot could match his dexterity, and not for lack of trying - processing times were simply far too long. How was Futon coping? What simplifying heuristics was he using? And it was a good thing Futon subcontracted all his important decisions to his master - they were way beyond him. But he still wondered how dogs could bear to live in a world they understood nothing about, over which they had no control, just to let themselves be guided all the time. And how could street dogs survive?

He sat down on a stone and looked at his diary. Lia had of course already added his evening dinner, tomorrow he would have lunch and dinner, both with people he didn't know. Why had Lia organized them? It wasn't nothing, it was a lot of paperwork: a declaration had to be made, an official form filled out, before any restaurant outing. He'd never understood why the government had imposed this “health security”; the world had become far too complex for him. Fortunately, Lia was in charge, so he didn't have to think about it.

One woman, one man, the former for private and the latter for business? He would have preferred it the other way round, but that would certainly have been too “datey” as the Americans say; you never set a dinner date with a woman you haven't seen at least once, it's just not done. Then again, maybe he had it all wrong, maybe it was the other way around, his hope was sexist, he had to admit. But, the year before, Lia had already arranged a lunch for him with a woman, and they'd gotten on very well, they'd even had an affair for a few months, which had lasted until she got too jealous of Lia. He hadn't been able to explain. Another time, Lia hadn't wanted to set up a meeting with a woman he'd liked, but he hadn't understood why.

Futon was now lying down, resting. He looked at the other dogs with a smile, not just the ones who were still running, but also those who, like him, had shriveled up from exhaustion. Futon showed no signs of worry, as if he knew that the games would soon resume and that even if they didn't, for example because they were going home, that would be fine too. The level of confidence Futon placed in him impressed him. Whatever he decided, Futon followed him. It wasn't submission, he wasn't following him to avoid a beating, but on the contrary to live even better: it was the very definition of trust, the certainty Futon had that his master would decide better than he what to do.

A ding on his watch told him it was time to go home; it was Lia who had calculated the journey time, taking traffic jams into account. So he got up, called Futon who came running, and went to his car. No, it really wasn't submission, but trust: the certainty that he was winning by obeying. He wondered who would be at the party, would he meet anyone new? Lia knew, of course, but there was no point in asking, he'd just have to go, he'd see, and that would be fine anyway. Since he'd had Lia, he'd never known a failed evening, there'd always been something to make him glad he'd done what Lia had suggested.

Futon lay back in the back seat, still smiling. He told himself that dog's life really was a paradise: no decisions to make, no stress, just enjoy the present¹.

Image : Young Jack Russell terrier puppy. Photo toitoinebzh. Wikimedia Commons

©Philippe Gouillou - Jeudi 12 décembre 2024