Article: He Walks the walk, barks the bark (Pet communication can get hairy)

From The Des Moines Register Nov. 7th, 2003
by Kyle Munson

The scientist behind it, Matsumi Suzuki, is routinely asked to verify the authenticity of audio-taped threats from Osama bin Laden, or so the manufacturer tells me.

During the past week, I've been using said device to communicate better with my own pet mutt, Dottie. She's a lithe and perky collie mix, 3 years old, about 50 pounds, with an incredible vertical leap. Loves people - so much so that my father-in-law once found himself wrestled to the floor in a struggle to be the first to answer the doorbell.

Dottie's not always crazy about her fellow dogs, though, which is why, by the end of her second round of obedience classes, with me on the other end of the leash, she was required to wear a muzzle. Meanwhile, it felt like I was wearing a dunce cap. Bad owner! Bad owner!

Of course, Dottie and I couldn't console each other by making fun of the other prim-and-proper students. They were teacher's pets, one and all! Slobbering geeks. She could only nuzzle me, and I could only pat her on the head and slip her treats.

The frustrating language barrier between Dottie and me has been gnawing at dog owners since the dawn of time, as surely as Dottie gnawed my last TV remote into tiny pieces.

We humans have been obsessed with our dogs, pets, animals in general, for a long time.

One of the first things God made Adam do was to name all the animals - so taking care of our pets was obviously a holy commandment even before the original-sin fiasco came along. (And that was all about a talking serpent!)

You don't have to be Roy Horn to understand why effective communication with your pets is more crucial than ever in this age. Cleaning up your dog's piddle indoors is plenty incentive to learn to speak their language - even if all you want to do in the heat of the moment, with the stinking mess in front of you, is learn every doggy swear word in the book.

So the Bow-Lingual aims to help bridge the gap with a wireless microphone strapped to the dog's collar, which transmits to a handheld device that looks like a walkie-talkie but has a digital screen where you read, um, translations of the barks.

There's everything from a giddy "Yeah, Baby!" worthy of Austin Powers to the useful warning "I might bite!"

These responses are variations within six distinct emotional categories that Suzuki identified: happy, sad, on-guard/territorial, frustrated, assertive/playful and needy.

For instance: my toddler son, Frankie, was playing with my wife and me in the basement as Dottie peered from the middle of the stairs, sticking her head between the railings. Dottie was making growly noises that I interpreted as threats, though I was admittedly confused about her wagging tail.

According to the Bow-Lingual, Dottie was really saying, "I wanna see the world!" And then, "Give me the stars and the moon!"

So, OK. She was feeling needy. Starved for affection. Jealous. Wanted to be part of the family. It seemed reasonable, so maybe it's legit. (Not that I can doublecheck for accuracy anyway.)

Tonja Osborn of Carlisle is used to owners like me misinterpreting what our dogs are trying to tell us. She's heard the buzz about the Bow-Lingual (which retails for $139), but as a dog trainer for the last 11 years, she has relied mostly on a dog's body language.

And after working with more than 400 dogs every year in that time (as well as living with five of her own and showing them), she claims with confidence that she's never met a stupid dog.

She said there are two common misperceptions that contribute to the language barrier between man and man's best friend:

1. People think dogs are born speaking English. No. The work "sit" is not instinctive. It has to be drummed into the dog's head with repetitive training (read treats).
     

2. People think dogs love them. Ha! Next joke. Dogs are pack animals who kowtow to authority. You become leader of the pack only through a consistent process of rewarding their good behavior and humanely correcting their mistakes.

Then Osborn shared this observation: Translating Dottie's barks is only the beginning.

Even if my dog and I could carry on a cogent debate about nuclear proliferation in the Third World, it doesn't begin to stop her from wetting herself when she meets strangers.

The bite will always be worse than the bark because there's no nifty gadget to magically alter my dog's behavior.

Bah - this whole bark translation thing has, um, gone to the dogs. There's no epiphany for me except that I still haven't done my proper homework with Dottie after our obedience classes months and months ago.

Bad owner! Bad owner!

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