Bones Would Rain from the Sky: Deepening Our Relationships with Dogs by Suzanne Clothier

hemlocks' shade. We
are, at every step, together, without the need for words, bound
by the heart's invisible leash, unmistakably
connected.
    Baseball great Yogi Berra summed it up rather
neatly: "You can observe a lot by just watching." And
he was right-few things tell me as much about the quality
of the connection between a person and a dog as what can be
observed as they just walk along together. This sounds so
simple comto be with a dog as we walk. What I
mean by "with" is a connection that is not easily
defined but that is evident in its absence. It is a
choice of two to be together, not a matter of tying
someone to you with leash and collar.
At my seminars, I make a routine
practice of standing where I can watch people and their dogs
entering the building; at home, I watch clients
take their dogs from the car and walk them toward me.
If there were a single snapshot moment that
encapsulates a relationship, it might be simply
this: how a person and a dog walk together.
My friend Rosemary has driven from Illinois
to spend a few days at our farm with her four dogs.
She is tired from the long drive, and after hugging us,
asks if she might walk her dogs. As she opens
the side door of her van, I can hear her talking
quietly to the excited dogs. Although they are good
travelers, even the best of dogs grows weary of
confinement after fifteen hours on the road. As she leans
into the van and gathers their leashes, I see
Teddy's nose appear over her shoulder, nostrils
flaring as he drinks in the farm scents. Poking out
past Rosemary's hip is Zena's black
button of a nose, and though I can see only a little
of the graying muzzle, I can tell that she is
wriggling in the delight of arrival. With all leashes
securely attached, Rosemary steps back. The
dogs stand eager but contained, waiting for her quiet
    "okay." When it comes, they flow from the
van, a river of feet and tails, ears and eyes and
noses busy trying to take in the whole farm at
once. Despite their excitement, they do not lose
track of Rosemary, nor do they pull on their
leashes. As she shuts the van door, they glance up
at her as if to ask, "Are you ready yet?"
While they wait, impatient but polite, she
carefully organizes the leashes in her hand and
says, "Let's go, guys." And off they go, together
in every sense of the word.
Not surprisingly, Rosemary has an excellent
relationship with her dogs-in every moment of her
interactions with them, she makes it clear to them and
to all watching that she is truly with them. In turn,
they are decidedly with her, whether in the quiet
empty moments or when working on a task. Any
difficulties, when they arise, are a matter of
miscommunication between Rosemary and the dog or an
inability on her part or theirs to work together in just that
way, not a failure of clear leadership or the
result of conflicts in the relationship itself
Walking the dog is the stuff of cartoons for good
reason. The eternal question: "Who is walking whom?"
is amusing only on the surface, just as jokes about
henpecked husbands are only superficially
funny. Examined at a deeper level, there
isn't anything funny at all about relationships or
leashes taut with tension. Perhaps the humor arises from
a wry recognition that relationships are not always what
we'd like them to be, from our unstated relief that others
have the same difficulties with their dogs or spouses
or bosses or children that we do. But we are
uncomfortably aware-if we take a moment to think
about it-that an unbalanced or frustrating relationship
is no laughing matter.
How important is the quality of connection? How
critical is it that we learn on the most basic
level to truly walk with a dog? It may be, quite
literally, a matter of life and death. The leading
cause of death in dogs in Western countries is
behavior-unacceptable, uncontrollable, inap
propriate behavior. Not disease. Not being hit by a
car. Not neglect or