The Sympathy of Dogs

T he new Netflix series The Hidden Lives of Pets has a new bit of dog science to share with the audience. My daughter dutifully reported it to me. When dogs are reunited with their owners after a period of separation, the dogs not only read their masters’ moods, but they actually sync their heartbeats to the same rhythm as their owners’. It’s yet another way this parasitic species, which is completely dependent on us, has found to bond with its source of food. It’s a feat of sympathy no human companion could possibly manage.

And, after nearly three years with our Kerry blue terrier, Dolly, I can’t say I’m surprised. This dog is the first for my wife. And every day she inspires my wife to call her “the best girl.” We’ve come a long way.

After the first year, I did a review column on Dolly, as if she were any other product. We had to overcome the initial challenges of adding an energetic, high-prey-drive terrier to the mix with three young kids present. The kids antagonize the puppy, unaware. The puppy nips the kids, offending them. And on and on it went. But in a few months the pup grew up. And our kids are two years wiser too.

The other side of my review was on her role as a layer of security in the house. She’s not going to tear the arm off a determined criminal, but she barks and growls as if she could. I do believe on that sound alone she could intimidate an intruder who only heard her and didn’t realize all that racket was emerging from just 30 pounds of dog. The physical doorbell still makes a faint chime when she barks near it — such is the wave of sound.

She’s vigilant about the mail carriers and the parade of UPS, FedEx, and Amazon deliverymen. There’s almost a rhythm to it. I hear her bark first. A second later, the security system I installed sends more or less the same message as Dolly’s to my phone as a notification: Someone’s coming up the driveway! But Dolly is more sensitive and protective than the cameras. She warns off squirrels and deer too. They say that liberals like dogs that are immediately welcoming and friendly. I guess it fits that a middle-aged, property-owning reactionary prefers one that yelps “Get Off My Lawn” to any creature.

But the most shocking thing about Dolly is not her bark but her profound sensitivity to the humans in her house. If all is well, she stays near my wife or me while we work. She greets the babysitter every day as if they were friends reunited. But if any member of our household is sick or even just having a bad day, Dolly finds a way to get close to them — sitting at the foot of the bed, or just off to the side. If someone falls asleep on the couch at night, she’ll stay downstairs and guard them from her spot on the ottoman.

And I suppose I’m thrilled to know how good I have it with Dolly. In the mornings, she gets a good walk. And then she gives our babysitter that massive greeting, her tail wagging so hard her backside shakes with it. I grab my coffee and a few dog treats and head up the stairs. Dolly follows me into my home office — and I toss the treats across the floor for her to hunt for a minute.

I shut the door and usually put on a record before heading to the standing desk. Within minutes, Dolly is lying flat across the carpet. And now when I look at her that relaxed, I know that my heart rate is ready. If I was bothered — if something was on my conscience — she would pace around and try to get my attention. If there were unusual noises in the neighborhood, she’d jump into my easy chair and stare out the window.

As it is, most days I imagine she hopes I finish the writing part early, so that I’ll grab a book and sit in the oversized chair, while she takes a nap beside me. I’ll let her go if one of the kids comes home upset. She knows I’m doing my job, and so she is free to do hers.