The Posse Makes a Distinction

Quite a bit of the time, the Beagle Posse confuses me.  Of course, a lot of things confuse me, but I write about the Posse.

With the lure of some bits of cheese, I called them together to see if I could get some explanations.

“Dogs,” I said, “Why is it that some things in the yard and the street produce crazy barking fits, and other things that are almost the same get ignored?”

“You got any more cheese?” mumbled Tommy with his mouth full.

“Not until I get some answers.”

“Hrummpf,” said Tuppence.  “We don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.  Give us some f’rinstance.”

“OK,” I said, “a big one.  When the school bus stops in our street, you bark and howl like crazy.  When the equally big garbage truck stops, you snooze away and don’t make a sound.  Why’s that?”

“That’s obvious, is what that is,” says Tommy.

“Explain it to me.”

“Well,” says Tuppence, “obviously, the big yellow thing stops and gobbles up all of the kids who stand on the corner every morning—that should scare the hell out of you, a kid-eating monster.  We HAVE to drive it away.  If it will eat kids, it will eat dogs.”

“The big blue thing,” says Tommy, “gobbles up and hauls away all the stinky garbage.  So, it’s ok. You don’t think kids and garbage are the same thing, do you?”

“I think two noisy trucks are close to the same thing.  And you LOVE stinky stuff.  You roll in it every time you can.”

“That,” says Tuppy, “is different stinky stuff.  The garbage stuff you won’t let us roll in.  Therefore, we have no use for it.  It might as well be hauled off by the blue monster.  Even a human should see that difference.”

“I’m not sure I do, but here’s another.  The UPS man comes in the yard, and you nearly tear down the walls with Heavy Metal barking.  Yet, the yard man, with a noisy weed whacker, comes up the same walk, and you sleep away on the couch,”

“Man,” says Tuppence, “you really are dense.  That UPS guy is evil.  Obviously.  And he wears brown shorts in the summer—with black socks.”

“Beagle fashion police,” I sighed.  “Why do you say he is evil.  He usually brings stuff we need.”

Tommy jumped in, “Yeah?  Once he brought that flea stuff you put on our back.  Evil.”

Tuppence added, “It smells like medicine, it’s oily, and we don’t have fleas.  We don’t need it.”

“Did you dogs ever think, the reason you don’t have fleas is because of that flea medicine?”

“That’s your opinion,” sniffed Tuppence.  “Anyway, the lawn guy is a good guy, because he scares off squirrels.  So, we don’t bark at him.”

“But you like to bark at squirrels,” I said.

“To scare them off,” said Tommy.

“QED,” added Tuppence.

“Everything we do is to keep the place safe,” said Tommy. “You’re welcome.”

I tried another.  "Sometimes at night, you raise cane over a small noise outside."

"It might be something," says Tommy.

"Other times," I added, "there's a noise, and you sleep right through."

"It's probably nothing," said Tuppence.

I was just about defeated.  “Posse, your differences and distinctions make no sense.”

“Neither do humans,” said Tommy.

“Yeah,” said Tuppence, “You humans bark and carry on like crazy when some dumb Muslim kid with a non-working shoe bomb even tries to get on a plane.  Yet you sleep right through it when white guys with M-16s shoot up a bunch of schools and theaters.  You explain that, and we’ll explain trucks and buses, ok?”

I gave the Posse the rest of the cheese.

Of Frenchmen and Talking Dogs

Once again, a reader has asked me, “Do you think your dogs talk to you?”  So, it’s time, again, to address that.

This is actually a two part question, and I’ll discuss the parts individually.

The first part, “Do you think?” is a question with which philosophers have wrestled since ancient times, and I doubt we’ll reach a conclusion today.  But, first, yes, I think I think, but you see, there’s the pesky circular reasoning.  One cannot conclude that one thinks without saying, “I think I think.”  Not very helpful.  Famously, Frenchman Rene Descartes put it, “Cogito ergo Sum,” (I think, therefore I am.) though why a Frenchy would resort to Latin is beyond me.  The French language is obscure enough without going all ancient speak on us.

In any case, this question has always been a philosophical rumble in the streets.  The deep (or shallow, depending) question is one of actual existence and reality.  Is thought the immaterial response to a material world, or is a material world the product of immaterial thought?   I don’t suggest wrestling with that unless you have at least a six pack of a nice Ale, or a bottle of an adequate Chianti near to hand.

The point is, we will not reach any definitive answer to this, and thus, must leave the first part of the two-part question to future philosophers to attempt to unravel.

The second part of the question:  “(Do) your dogs talk to you?” is easier.

Yes, they do.