Intelligence or Insmelligence

By John Atkinson

I’ve always had big dogs with no two alike in personality.  But they were loyal and loved me with patience I could never find for myself.  In the book Timekeeper, I coined a word, insmelligence, to describe how some dogs think through their sense of smell.

The smartest dog I ever cohabitated with was a male Sheltie named Jody.   Jody was my daughter Lesley’s pet.  When she went to work as a graphic artist for the Navy, I got Jody.  Our relationship started out shaky.  I was used to dogs like German Shepherds. On occasion I had to raise my voice.  Shepherds recognize dominance and I was the alpha male in control.  But Jody grew up around my daughter, a soft-spoken lady who was kind and gentle.

Jody was with me for a few days when I yelled a command and he ran away.  I should have known he was homesick for Lesley.  I can’t describe how upset I was for yelling.  It broke my heart.  He couldn’t go far as we live on a small island.  As the crow flies, I knew which direction my daughter’s house was and Jody did too.  I headed that way and soon saw him sitting at the end of our narrow road with water all around and no bridge to the mainland.  Like a man with his pride, Jody didn’t run but sat looking across the water.  I spoke to him like I was talking to a human. “Jody, I’m sorry I yelled at you.  I should’ve known better.  But we have a problem.  Lesley has gone away and we’ll have to live together and make the best of it.  Come home and I promise I’ll never raise my voice at you again.  OK?  I’m sorry for doing that.”  I wept and Jody understood.  Dogs possess an amazing ability for forgiveness we humans should strive to have.  He followed behind me a few feet and when we got home I stroked his head and loved him kindly.  It was a sad moment for us.  Jody was Lesley’s pet, not mine.  I was mindful of how he suffered from her absence.  I missed Lesley too. 

Right away I learned I only had to tell him once.  I said he could never go into grandma’s room because she was allergic to dogs.  Accustomed to going into the old parlor converted to a bedroom, Jody never entered the room again.  He understood.

He liked to smell outside at night before we went to sleep.  Nothing I could say could hurry along the process.  He taught me patience.

Here’s how smart Jody was.  I gave him five tiny dog cookies each day.  One week I was running low on treats so I passed out three.  Jody looked at me, then the cookies and back at me.  He wouldn’t touch them.  I added another cookie making four.  He did the same thing and wouldn’t eat.  I asked myself, “Can this dog count?”  I put the fifth cookie in the pile and he touched them with his nose and ate.  I showed this to a neighbor and she was astounded that Jody could count.  You couldn’t fool him, as he knew five treats were due.  I thought of little Jody as my intellectual companion.  

Jody was at my side many years and when he died, a piece of me went with him.  But a piece of him is always with me.  Intelligence or insmelligence, that is the question.  I take a whiff of roses and Mama’s jewelry box comes to mind.  From the spirit world I say the secret word to Jody and remember unconditional love.  Jody taught me a lot.  I miss him.

 

John Atkinson is the author of TIMEKEEPER, a magnificent book about a young boy who fights to overcome illiteracy. Timeekeeper, ISBN 978-0-9776076-5-5, is available in hardcover or paperback .To order your copy call 1-800-228-9316. International orders call: 00-1-831-238-7799 or visit: www.fisherkingpress.com