The Dog With the Criminal Mind by Bruce Emard

THE DOG WITH THE CRIMINAL MIND

By

Bruce Emard

I sometimes wonder, do dogs have minds, or are they just mindless creatures whose genes have been crafted by breeders over the ages to enhance identifiable physical and behavioral characteristics? A certain dog with whom I have become intimately familiar has convinced me that not only do they have minds but these canine minds have the capacity to form the requisite intent to call their actions criminal.

The case in point is a mixed breed dog (part hound, part setter – white with black spots, a brown patch over one eye, barrel chested, about the size of a watermelon with legs) rescued from euthanasia for biting children twice by my loving family in need of a family pet.  The dog arrived at the family home, dew claws hanging, tail between its legs, and an overly submissive demeanor.  With love and attention, the dew claws disappeared, its tail began to wag, and its demeanor changed to one of confidence.  Naturally, my family assumed the dog’s affinity to its human masters had been restored.  I will call this dog Patch for purposes of this allegory.

With time, Patch’s true nature emerged.  While the incidents are many, I will provide but three examples to demonstrate his criminal nature.  Example one: on cold country days, Patch would stand at the patio sliding glass door, eyes drooping, his body shivering and shaking, tail between his legs, presenting a very miserable appearance.  Of course, this conduct played upon our pathos, and we would let him in to our warm house.  I didn’t think much about this conduct, but when I did, I found it amusing. However, one hot summer day, I noticed Patch standing at the slider shaking horribly, eyes drooping, tail between his legs.  I thought, “wait just a minute, it’s hot outside, not cold, and here he is again with that pathetic appearance.”  I realized at that moment, Patch knew how to play upon human emotions to get just what he wanted from us, like a practiced con man.  I didn’t let him in to our cool house, but my wife did, finding his conduct amusing.

Example two: we keep the dog food and a box of dog biscuits on the floor of the pantry, usually with the doors open.  We feed Patch and his goofy, dopey, and honest Labrador retriever companion, Scip (Scip is a story for another time), once a day in the early evening.  We keep the dogs inside at night confining Scip to a small area, knowing the insatiable appetites of labs and their tendency to develop barrel bellies.  One day, I noticed the supply of dog biscuits seemed unusually low.  I decided to stay up late that night in my easy chair, pretending to snooze, to solve the mystery.  About two o’clock in the morning, I heard a slight rustling in the dog area, then the sound of paws on the tiled kitchen floor.  I turned in the dim, night light darkness to watch creeping Patch, nose to the floor, turn the corner into the pantry.  He emerged with two biscuits in his mouth.  Rather than return to his dog bed, he turned in the opposite direction toward the living room.  I assumed he had gotten a case of the munchies in the middle of the night, didn’t want to share the biscuits with Scip, and went to the living room to eat them.  When I told my wife, she laughed finding Patch’s conduct amusing.  However, a few days later when she told me she had found seven biscuits hidden between the cushions of her prized living room couch, she didn’t laugh.  I did, realizing Patch had the mind of a thief - sneaky, greedy, and aware of the wrongness of his miscreant conduct. We keep the pantry doors closed at night these days.

The third example comes with a warning, (it contains graphic content that may offend squeamish readers): my wife and youngest son decided one day they would like to raise chickens on our country acres.  They started their project by purchasing chicks of different breeds, some for laying, some for their appearances.  As the chicks developed into hens, two silkies became my son’s favorite pets.  A children’s playhouse turned into a chicken coop.  One day, my wife and son put Patch and Scip on their leashes, let the chickens out of the coop to roam, and took the dogs for a walk down the country lane.  On their return, when they reached our long, graveled driveway, my son let Patch off his leash to get some more exercise.  Patch immediately took off running, my son following but unable to keep up.  When he finally caught up to Patch, he was greeted by a cloud of white feathers, and blood dripping from Patch’s jowls.  It was too late, his favorite silkie was dead, partly devoured by Patch.  Rather than assign me the task of disposing of the body as is usually the case with difficult tasks, my son gave the silkie a proper burial.  When I learned of this incident, I was not surprised.  I already knew Patch had a criminal mind.  While docile and gentle most of the time, he had the capacity to turn into a raging lunatic capable of murder in an instant!

Now I must ask you, what is the proper punishment for a criminal like Patch; imprisonment, death, or some lenient sentence?