Relative Something

In the middle of rambunctious wrestling play in the backyard, Asher suddenly dropped the large JollyBall and cocked his head as if someone had called to him. Something had grabbed his attention from the direction of an aging pile of woodchips.

An aroma. One to which I was entirely oblivious. It was beyond the level of perception that my olfactory system could detect. I am well aware that dogs have a better sense of smell than people, but in that moment it struck me how different his world is from mine.

A couple of days ago on a walk around our property, Asher suddenly grabbed something in his jaws and I could immediately tell it was a dead something. It was a prize. The surprisingly large fur blob had broad, clawed feet that I identified as one of the biggest burrowing moles I’ve seen.

I decided to play coy and not battle with Asher to drop the critter against his wishes, even though that is precisely what I wanted. Watching his behavior, I sensed right away that he wanted to bury it somewhere of his choosing. He picked the pile of woodchips.

Just like that, he dropped his precious find and I didn’t need to get involved. I would come back later to collect the carcass and dispose of it surreptitiously. Indeed, I tried to do just that, but when I checked the pile yesterday morning, there was nothing but woodchips. I wasn’t sure, but it’s possible the top of the pile showed evidence of recent traffic.

When Asher sprinted for the pile, it was the top of the pile that grabbed his attention,  not the spot of his prior burial exercise. From probably 50 yards away he picked up the scent of activity on the spot where he had buried that dead mole.

His perception of the world is so different from mine.

A few days ago I granted him full freedom to dig away on the path around the horse fence where new mole activity recently appeared. He dug with impressive fervor for the longest time which I assumed reflected he was smelling a scent that indicated prey was close at hand, or paw, as it was.

He didn’t come up with anything. Each time we’ve walked that same path in the days since, he has shown no interest at all. Must not smell like a mole anymore.

I’m guessing the rat activity in the barn has ended for the season because he no longer digs passionately in there.

He laid down and waited patiently while I braided scraps of polypropylene twine as we waited for horses to finish emptying their feed pans in the afternoon.

Okay, maybe our worlds aren’t that different.

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