Howdy, folks. Glen Blamstead here. I told my dog Rufus to sit last Tuesday afternoon on the concrete pad behind the shop, and I'll be honest with you, he's still considering his options. It's now Thursday. He has weighed the matter thoroughly, consulted several trusted advisors — a stick, a puddle, a chunk of frozen mud — and he has, at last check, arrived at absolutely no conclusion whatsoever.
Rufus is what a nice person would call thoughtful. What an honest person would call slow. He's a good dog, don't get me wrong. He does not chase the neighbor's chickens. He does not eat the mail. He has never once barked at a squirrel with genuine conviction. He just gives every command the same treatment: a long, contemplative pause, a small tilt of the head, and then whatever he was already planning to do anyway.
"Sit," I said.
He looked at me. He looked at the ground. He looked back at me. He looked at a leaf that was doing something interesting about six feet away. He gently laid down. Which is not sit. Which is, in fact, the command right after sit, if we were following the syllabus, which we clearly were not. He skipped ahead. He is an advanced student, apparently. Self-directed learner.
My wife came out with two cups of coffee, watched this whole exchange for about eleven seconds, and said, "He is doing that on purpose."
I said, "Doing what on purpose."
She said, "Ignoring you."
I said, "He is not ignoring me. He is deliberating."
She said, "Glen. He is a labrador."
Which is a fair point. I don't want to give the impression that Rufus has been sitting there thinking about big ideas. He is not, to my knowledge, working through the trolley problem or reconsidering his stance on the designated hitter rule. But he is, in his own way, a decision-making animal. Every situation is a fresh negotiation. Every command is opening bid. Whatever we settle on tends to involve him getting a piece of cheese, which he considers only fair.
The crew has picked up on this. Cody the other morning was carrying a bundle of trusses across the yard — the wooden ones, obviously, because we do not put steel trusses on Sherman buildings, and I will not be talked into it, no matter how many times the fellas at the truss plant call to see if I have come to my senses — and Rufus was parked right in the middle of the path. Not moving. Not budging. Just deliberating.
Cody stopped, sighed, adjusted the bundle on his shoulder, and said, "Glen, your dog is in the road again."
I said, "He is not in the road. That is the yard."
Cody said, "He is in MY road."
I told Rufus to move. He considered it. Weighed the pros and cons. Consulted the leaf again. Cody eventually walked around him, which is, I believe, precisely the outcome Rufus was hoping for. He is playing the long game.
I have tried the classic strategies. I have used the firm voice. I have used the treats-in-a-pocket approach. I have used the pointed-finger, which was recommended in a dog training book I picked up at a garage sale, and which as best I can tell was designed for a completely different animal, possibly a small horse. Rufus finds the pointed finger deeply amusing. He treats it as a suggestion. He treats most things as suggestions.
There was a moment last winter when I thought we had turned a corner. It was February, cold enough that even the auger was thinking about calling in sick, and Rufus came right over to me, sat down clean and clear on the concrete without being asked, and looked up at me like he had finally understood the assignment. I got a little misty about it, honestly. I bent down, scratched behind his ears, told him he was a very good boy.
Then I realized he was sitting on a warm patch where the truck had just been parked. He was not obeying me. He was managing his heat exposure. He is a strategist.
A customer came by the shop last week to talk about a shouse. Nice fella, from up around McGrath. He watched Rufus lay down in front of the doorway, roll onto his side, and let out a sigh that suggested he had been through a great deal in this life. The customer said, "Is that dog alright?"
I said, "He is fine. He is considering his options."
The customer said, "For how long?"
I said, "Well. On and off since he was a puppy. But intensely, since about Tuesday."
The customer nodded like this was a normal answer, which around here it more or less is. Then we went out into the yard and talked about post spacing and wall heights and whether he wanted a loft over the shop side, which is the good part of the job as far as I am concerned. Rufus followed us the whole way. He continued to deliberate. He deliberated all the way to the truck. He deliberated while the customer left. Last I checked he was deliberating out by the burn pile, though he may have moved. It is hard to say. He does not file reports.
Anyway. That is where things stand. I told my dog to sit on Tuesday. It is now Thursday. He is still considering his options. If you happen to swing by the shop in Mora one of these days, feel free to weigh in on his decision. He will not listen to you either, but he does appreciate the input.
Bring cheese.
