I admit it.
I’m an airedale freak.
Mostly because of their sense of humor.
Yes, dogs DO have a sense of humor.
And, in fact, they are better comedians than we are.
You don’t see it?
Have you really never watched your dog take every single sock out of a dryer and hide them?
Singly.
Throughout the garage.
And then stand there grinning at you?
Turn around three times.
Take a bow.
And then show you proudly that they put them under the car.
Some of them.
And then just walk away.
Or how about how they pull back their lips and grin,
and, in the case of our Mugg,
put their paws on top of their noses because something is just too too funny.
(while rolling onto her side if something really tickles her fancy-
like a little man in a boat rowing across a toilet bowl and singing,
to sell bath cleaner-
that gets her every time.)
And since certain breeds,
like border collies,
have an IQ about the same as that of a six year old child,
(airedales’, of course, being the Einsteins of the dogworld, are higher)
(that is my story, and I’m sticking to it-
otherwise I couldn’t explain all the weird things ours have gotten up to over the years-
like taking all the icecubes out of the icemaker to hold icecube races.
I assume at ten to one odds)
Anyway,
no matter where you look,
if you take the time,
you can find all variations of humor types in dogs.
Mugg, for example, is a great lover of the good old fashioned slip on a banana peel school.
And probably would love the stooges if all that yuck yuck yuck didn’t get on her nerves.
She IS a female dog, after all.
What she does love, however, is anything that happens to her hated,
and here, to defend Mugg, I have to add, taunting,
rival,
the maine coon cat next door.
Like the day Mazie,
all thirty-five pounds of her,
slid a couple of feet,
all four paws flailing,
along the fence,
in a pouring rain,
and landed with a hefty plop on her hethermost extremities.
I swear that day I heard yuck yuck yuck coming from Mugg’s throat.
And as for the day the birds ate the pyracantha
and got exceedingly drunk,
and waddled across the lawn,
or hung head down from the bushes-
Mugg observed quietly for a while,
mouth open,
intense,
preparing to defend her home territory,
and then,
as if realizing how totally ridiculous it all was,
rolled on her back and kicked all four paws in the air.
Joyously.
A sound I swear sounded like ho ho ho coming from her.
And as for the time she chased,
and caught,
a mechanical wind-up Easter chicken,
and carried it around the house for a solid hour,
as a victory prize,
stopping to shake it every once in a while to make it cluck,
no no one can tell me that dog doesn’t have a sense of humor.
And timing.
Now if only I could teach her enough sign language to do stand-up…
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Quahog on a Tightrope 