HERE’S LOOKING AT YOU

It was Saturday, September 25 — first full day back in town after spending the summer out in Montauk. Kemba, still in thrall to his beach addiction, dragged me down Soundview (yes, he had me on a leash) to the little stretch of sand on the far side of the jetty — the only place on the beach dogs are allowed. (That is, until last Friday, October 1, when — finally! — the whole of Compo Beach is open to them again.) There was another dog already there, a very cute and hyperactive one-and-a-half-year-old female black Lab named Scout. She and her owner were doing the same thing Kemba and I do constantly: Man flings ball into water using Chuck-it. Dog retrieves ball and drops it at owner’s feet. Rinse and repeat. Obviously, Scout was more interested in our ball, and Kemba in theirs. That goes without saying.

What the other guy — Rich — and I noticed is that the behavior of both dogs was exactly the same: Drop the ball at our feet. Look up at us. Back up a few paces. Look up again. Come forward a few paces. Stare. Nudge the ball a little closer, if we don’t move quite fast enough for their taste. It was remarkable, this little dance, this synchronized staring. The intensity of Kemba’s and Scout’s gaze — wow! Other dogs arrived on the scene, playing keep-away, playing catch-me-if-you-can. They were just a nuisance to our driven duo. Nothing else mattered besides that ball and the guy who damned well better throw it.

I mentioned in a recent post that my friend Steven is interested in finding a Duck Toller. He and Kemba had a connection, he felt. He’d noticed that whenever Kemba wanted something from him, he’d turn those piercing black eyes on him and stare. I told Steven he does that to me all the time. And that it can be a little unnerving. The intensity of it. The relentlessness of it. How it never, ever wavers. “Oh my God,” Steven said. “I guess that’s really a thing. I read about it online!”

When you dogsit a Toller, they’ll often stare at you.  In the kitchen…in the living room,  while you’re taking a bath, or sitting on the john.  No wagging the tail.   No movement.   Just an intense STARE.  When most dogs look at you, they’ll drop their gaze after a few seconds.  But not Tollers.   They’ll never give in.   They’ll just STARE  And they’ll continue to stare, until they burn holes into the back of your head with their laser-focused gaze.  But it’s not so much about dominance.  It’s about asking “Can you please come out and PLAY with me?   [from THE DEEP FRIAR blog: “The Toller Stare,” March 18, 2011]

After seven-plus years, I’ve become used to that stare. I’m actually able to ignore it, and power through it, when I’m really zeroed in on what I’m doing. If I have a concept, let’s say, for a blog post, I might hammer away on my laptop nonstop for a half hour. But when I swivel my head and take a look, there’s my boy. Hasn’t budged an inch. Still staring at me.

I get why Kemba needs to study my every move.  Everything that happens to him depends on what I do.  If I roll my desk chair back half an inch, Kemba springs to attention:  We’re going somewhere??!!   If I’m in a sandchair out on the beach, reading a book, and I so much as touch my glasses, he lunges for the nearest ball:  More fetch??!!  If I open the little drawer of the cabinet by the front door for my car keys, he streaks to my side:  We’re driving to an adventure??!!  If it’s around 2PM and I give him a slight nod, he races to his bowl: Lunch??!! And on the other side of the coin, if I pull one of my cloth biking caps off the hook in the mudroom, he’ll flop back down on the carpet, head resting on his front paws, a stoic look on his face:  Guess this doesn’t involve me.

The way my dog registers even my smallest gestures in order to learn his fate . . . it’s sort of sad. Poor thing is so dependent. Makes me want to give him what he wants.

But if I don’t, he won’t bark. He won’t start ripping apart one of his dog toys.

He’ll just keep staring.

YOU CAN ALSO FOLLOW BEAGLE MAN, KEMBA, AND RICKY ON FACEBOOK AND INSTAGRAM.