A romp with other dogs means trouble with the canines at home

She adores her own pooches, but she can't help giving other dogs a good scratch when she meets them.

By Sue Wunder

from the September 26, 2007 edition

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My dogs always know when I've been out fooling around. If I return from trips, neighborly visits, or even errands bearing the faintest scent of another canine on my hands, a stray hair or two on my sleeve, or (horror of horrors) an actual paw print on a pant leg, they realize I've lost my head again and welcomed – or actually courted – the attentions of some other dog. After assessing the evidence of such culpability, they sit back on their haunches, casting doleful "how could you?" visages of wounded pride and betrayed trust.

I tell them it's no use getting their noses out of joint that way. I am not going to walk that line. They may have supremacy in my heart, but they're not the only dogs in the world, and they might as well get used to my transgressions.

And I routinely do fall for dogs at first sight.

The mere sight of a wagging tail amid the clutter of a garage sale is enough to make me pull over and browse the wares, all the while fingering and fondling the upthrust muzzle of some resident pooch that recognizes, from yards away, a soft touch coming. I buy time by selecting a token article of clothing or household item; by the time I leave, scratching a wriggling body or stroking a silken head one last time, I know I'm in for a reprimand back at the farm. "So, you've been at it again," they seem to say, as they sulk after a suspicious, confirming sniff.

I think it's harder on them when they recognize the aura of a particular rival. On occasional work-related trips to Washington, D.C., I often spend a weekend with friends and fellow dog owners in their historic home near Capitol Hill.

I've found few nicer ways to wind down from a work-intensive week than by joining these friends on walks with their dogs, Nina and Gus, around the lawns of the Capitol, the Supreme Court, and the Library of Congress. The dogs may not appreciate the political and cultural significance of their romping grounds, but romp they do.

I take a shower and change clothes before the trip home, but my own dogs seem to know I've been with someone else: "Aha, that city pair." Is it my sanguine, canine-sated demeanor? They forgive me readily enough, but only because an epochal separation (one whole week!) has ended.

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