Intro Versus Extra—The Canine Personality

We know humans span the range of extraverts and introverts.  We are all somewhere between here and there, leaning one way or the other.  I lean to the introvert side quite a way, while my wife leans heavily to the extravert side.  She needs the excitement and energy of the outside world.  I, on the other hand, thrive on the inner world.  At the same time, we both realize that we are a combination of both.  We identify with the one we see as our strength.  I can survive in the outer world, but it wears me out . . . exhausts me.  For the wife, she thrives and is energized . . . she is revved up . . . raring to go.  She is more balanced in her make up, whereas I lean way to the introvert side and pull myself kicking and screaming into the world of extraverts.

 

It is a scale for us humans.  We are a combination of both.  I have made myself content with how I am.  Those who know and love me respect my being as it is.  At the same time, they lovingly tease me to step out into the chaos of the world and attempt be more extraverted.

 

This we know about humans.  What about our pets?  Ever wonder if your pup or kitty was an “introvert” or “extravert”?  Only recently have I wondered—what are my dogs?  Introverts?  Extraverts?

 

It piqued my curiosity the other day when some popping noises happened in the neighborhood.  A couple of bangs!  Bang!  Suddenly Birdie, our Border Collie/Corgi mix, got anxious.  She started breathing heavily.  She cuddled up against my leg.  She nervously looked around and kept glancing up to me for reassurance.  The nose scared her, and she couldn’t get close enough for some security.

 

Ever since she was a pup she hated loud exploding, pooping, banging noises.  She goes into an anxiety attack.  It is no fun to watch her suffer.  It makes me sad.

 

On the other hand, Quinn—our miniature Dachshund, is unfazed by the noise.  She is practically oblivious to the noise.  Of course she gets her vibes from her older sister, thus she senses the anxiety that Birdie is feeling.

 

From this description one would think that Birdie is an introvert . . . Quinn is an extravert.  Wrong!  It is the opposite.  Quinn is our introverted pup.  Birdie is the extravert.  At least that is how I see them.  The wife might disagree, but we learned long ago that it is best to agree to disagree and move on.

 

The truth of it all is that they are no different than humans.  They are a combination of both.

 

Birdie loves the outer world.  She loves to be outside . . . out in nature with all the sounds and activity.  She has never met another dog that isn’t a potential playmate . . . a companion to while the hours away.  It drives her crazy to watch the neighbors play with their pups.  She wants to play too.  She wants that interaction.

 

She loves company.  It does not matter if it is a critter or human.  She is friendly and open to meeting others.  She loves to go on walks to encounter people and other pups.  She’s an avid reader of “pee mail”.  Doesn’t miss a post and is always eager to leave a response.  There are no short walks with Birdie.

 

Birdie especially loves children.  A protector and companion.  She was always checking in on the grandchildren whenever they visited.  Always wanting to be where the action is.  She lives for those opportunities.  From the time I get home I get the “stare” . . . take me for my walk.

 

Quinn . . . well, she is different.  She loves the indoors.  That is her domain.  Her toys are scattered throughout, whereas Birdie’s are scattered across the yard.  Where Birdie finds great joy in the great outdoors, Quinn finds a necessary evil of that where business is to be taken care of.  For Quinn going outside is a brief diversion.  Unless it is sunny, and the rocks are warm.  Otherwise, it does not take much to coax her in.

 

Indoors she has her humans.  Two are enough for her.  The wife and I meet her needs.  A nice lap . . . a warm blanket . . . she is in heaven.  When it comes time for a walk, she is a nervous Nellie.  She hides under the table.  She goes in the opposite direction.  Walks are not her thing.  People are not her thing.  Birdie appreciates and approaches people—Quinn hides behind me.

 

I can’t blame her acting strange when it comes to walks.  After all, she is a miniature Dachshund.  She weighs a whopping ten pounds soaking wet.  She takes ten steps to Birdie’s one.  Plus, she is living in the land of giants.  Everything and everyone are bigger than she is.  Huge in comparison.  And children . . . children are the bane of her existence.  Children are touchy, feelie giants apt to step or pull on her.  She rather hang out with her humans.  It is safer.  Life expectancy is longer.

 

Quinn is a cuddler.  Birdie is action.  At the same time, they exhibit their weaker traits.  Birdie prefers a quiet place by herself to nap and sleep.  Quinn is under the sheets cozy between her two humans.  Birdies stares and rarely barks in the house, except when she has had enough inner time and longs for some extraverted time.  Inside Quinn has no difficulty expressing herself to me, often leading to long barking dialogues.  She barks a lot.  I blame it one small dog syndrome—she is a small dog!

 

Birdie is the extravert.  Quinn is an introvert.  Either way they are our furry buddies . . . our companions.  They are who they are.  Living with my wife, I understand Birdie—they both want a lot of attention and wear me out.  Quinn, on the other hand . . . well we connect.  We know each other.  We love our house . . . our sanctuary.  We love our pack.  It is enough for us.  They say people and dogs begin to resemble each other after a while.  When it comes to looks that is not the case for us . . . though I find Quinn to be quite a looker in comparison to me.    No, the older we get the more our personalities resemble one another.  We humans and all our critters are more alike than we know.  We are blessed by the tie that binds us.

 

Arooooo!!

The “Walk”

The best part of my day—Monday through Friday—is when I return home from work.  As I open the door to the humble abode I am greeted by the exuberance and joy of our canine children.  Both Quinn and Birdie jump up and down practically knocking me over to gain my attention.  Birdie lets out a heartfelt “ah-roo” signaling her excitement at my presence.  It is a welcome that destroys the roller coaster effects of a day at work.  It is an acknowledgement of love and desire.  It feels good to be loved and wanted.

On the other hand, the wife greets me from the comfort of her recliner in the other room with a simple, “Hey.”  I’ve learned after forty-some years of marriage that demonstrative displays of love and affection are saved for the grandchildren, dogs, and children (in that order) by the wife.  Yet I know that a simple “hey” hides the deep and abiding love she holds for me . . . after all, I am her “one and only”.  She thanks God every day.  She couldn’t handle any more of me than already has.  And I appreciate it.  We understand each other.  She understands me . . . really understands me.  I am an introvert and we introverts are not extravagant practitioners of abundant and public affection.  A simple “hey” suffices.  “Hey” says it all.

 

But nothing beats the welcome I receive from my furry loves.  Grandchildren come close, but nothing compares to a sloppy canine kiss and “ah-roo”.

 

Someone once told me that the reason that dogs get so excited when their owners leave for any length of time is because they think they are never going to come back.  Then when the owners return, they are surprised to see them.  Surprised that they have returned, they welcome their owners with joy and excitement of the father greeting the return of the prodigal son.  It is practically biblical in proportion.  Whatever the case, I revel in their greeting.  It feels good.

 

Yet, I know my dogs.  There are other motives behind their greeting.  Especially for our Borgie (Border Collie/Corgi mix) . . . it’s the “walk”.  My presence signals the evening walk.  Birdie becomes my shadow.  Wherever I go . . . whatever I do . . . she is beside me, staring me down with those big brown eyes, pleading, “Walk me!”

 

And it works.

 

I walk the dogs on most days when I get home and before we have supper.  The wife likes this arrangement because it gets the dogs out of the house—in particular, out of the kitchen while she cooks.  It is her “break time” from the dogs.  Before the dogs, it was our children.  In particular, our daughter.  Our daughter was a talkative tyke who was constantly bending her mother’s ear throughout the day.  Non-stop chatter.  For relief the wife met me at the door with daughter in hand, pointed me back out the door, and sent me out for a walk with the daughter.  Her last words were always, “Don’t hurry back.”  Hand in hand, I walked the blond bomber . . . chattering all the way.  It is still one of my fondest memories of my daughter.

 

The “walk” is the highlight of Birdie’s day.  She lives for the stroll around our small community.  Quinn, our miniature Dachshund, not so much.  Where Birdie is excited, Quinn is reluctant.  Who could blame her?  She is little.  She easily walks under Birdie—doesn’t even have to duck her head.  Her legs are short.  Her belly is inches off the ground.  In her mind “walk” is a journey of a thousand miles.  Typically, my pedometer tells me my average “walk” is 7000 steps.  That translates into well over 30,000 steps for Quinn.  I can understand her reluctance . . . but she goes.  Within half of a block, she becomes a willing and enthusiastic participant.  Birdie’s highlight becomes her highlight.

 

Understand, I am no rookie when it comes to walking dogs.  I have been doing it from the beginning with all the dogs we have been graced with in our lives.  The “walk” has always been a part of my journey.  They are our adventures.

 

When we first moved to Kearney, Nebraska to serve a congregation, the “walk” was with our Scottish Terrier named Pettie (Pronounced “Petey” . . . I know, I know.  The wife is from Kentucky and that is how they talk down there.).  We arrived in Kearney a motley crew . . . a one-year-old infant, a pregnant wife (bearing our second of four children—the previously mentioned chatter box daughter), and Pettie who had had a litter of puppies right before we moved.  Needing a respite from the craziness of setting up house, taking care of a toddler, and corralling wandering puppies, both Pettie and I took our first walk in our new neighborhood.  We hit the streets to explore our surroundings.

 

And what a beautiful neighborhood it was.  Manicured lawns.  Beautiful flower gardens.  It was picture perfect.  House after house looked like they were plucked right out of Better Homes and Gardens!   One house even had a great big sign out front proclaiming it the “yard of the week”.  It was magnificent.  Beautiful.  Awe inspiring.

 

I stopped to admire the “yard of the week” in all its splendor.  While admiring all that splendor, Pettie decided to take care of other important business and proceeded to take a dump.  Right there in front of God, all the heavenly angels, and everyone in the neighborhood she left a deposit right out front.  Not having doggie bags back in those dark ages, I hurried us home as quickly as possible.  It just did not seem like a neighborly act on the part of Pettie and me.  We had announced our arrival.

 

Adventure.  That is what the “walk” represents for the pups.  It is part exploration . . . part exercise . . . and all social.  It is constant sniffing, pausing, and reading the “pee mail”.  We humans have email, canines have “pee mail”.  Unknow to the human olfactory, “pee mail” is spewed across the landscape.  Apparently, it is everywhere . . . on a bush, rock, tree, pole, and in the grass.  Stop and go. Stop and go.  Ever ten feet we paused so the latest message from Bowser from down the street could be read/smelled.  More times than countable, I have nearly had my arm ripped from its socket or dropped on my backside because Birdie dug in to read/smell a newly discovered message from the town poodle demanding immediate attention.  Heaven forbid if I rush her through the latest doggie gossip!  There must be millions of dogs in town . . . at least it feels that way as much as we stop to catch up on the “pee mail”.

 

Unfortunately, my two dogs don’t read the same messages or read at the same speed.  When one stops, the other wants to go.  Stop and go.  Stop and go.

 

It is one thing to read the “pee mail”.  Dogs are social creatures with impeccable manners.  It is rude to leave a message unanswered or to not leave a few “pee mails” around.  They must be responded to in kind.  So, of course, my pups contribute willingly—and often—to the ongoing conversation.  It is the way it is.  It is not stop, read, and go . . . no, it is stop, read, pee, and go.  I guess one good correspondence deserves another.  I guess I should admire this genteel practice in my dogs.  I know a lot of people who never respond to anything.  I don’t want anyone to say my dogs are cretins who don’t follow canine protocol.  I raised my dogs better than that.

 

Another great distraction on the “walk” are other critters.  It is amazing how many critters inhabit our small community.  We have never gone on a walk without encountering some sort of creature.  Mostly we run into other dogs . . . either being walked, behind fences, or on a chain.  Being social, my dogs want to greet these other dogs.  What ensues is a barking constant and Quinn straining like crazy to how everyone that despite her minute size that she is the toughest dog in town.  We have encountered herds of deer . . . some are playful, most are skittish.  We have stumbled into a rafter of wild turkeys . . . up to seventy at once.  The pups like to chase them . . . and, yes, turkeys can fly.  Rabbits often catch the pups off guard.  Quinn, being a “hunter” often finds mice (dead and alive).  Occasionally we run into a cat or two.  Once we met an owl.  We stop and talk to horses who are friendly and curious.  We greet the cows out in the fields.  See a lot of birds.  Hear the coyotes.  Catch a Sandhill Crane here and there. We are never alone when we are on walks.  Never a dull moment on the “walk”.

 

Another part of the adventure is the actual skill of walking two dogs on two separate leashes at the same time.  At first it was a walking circus with a lot of stopping to untangle the leashes which usually involved a whole lot of unrepeatable words on my part.  I do a lot of hand exchanging with the leashes—front and back.  I have become quite skilled at keeping them from tangling up.  Every so often Quinn will stop when the leash gets under body.  She waits until I free her and then we are off.  Plus, we look peculiar when we walk because of the sizes of the two dogs.  I don’t care because the pups are happy.

 

And . . . that is what matters.  We are all happy.  The “walk” provides us with great joy . . . fresh air . . . exercise . . . adventure . . . and companionship.  My dogs love me.  I love my dogs.  Walking my dogs is the least I can do for them after all the love they shower upon me.  I think I might be wrong . . . maybe the greeting at the door isn’t the best part of my day.  Maybe . . . yeah . . . the “walk” is.  Hmmmm . . . who would have thought?

 

(The picture and poem at the top of this blog is by the wife, Dana Keener . . . she says it well.)