I love dogs.
Loyal, laser-focused and loving.
One of a dog’s most endearing qualities is unconditional love. No matter how bad your day has been, when you walk into your house from work (Remember when you used to do that?), the dogs are the first one there to greet you at the door. In that moment, they’re consumed by their happiness to see you, like spotting a squirrel in a tree (h/t “Up”), completely overwhelmed by your return. It’s always like they never thought you were coming back--and, now, “Thank God!” you have.
It’s affirming for us humans, but it’s also sad when you try to put yourself in your dog’s shoes--or, better said, paws. Part of a dog’s happiness in that moment is that when you leave, their world is so centered on you that I think there is always a part of them that thinks maybe this will be the time you don’t come back. That’s always made me feel a little bad and it’s a running joke in my family that I have wanted to come up with some way, when taking a day trip away from the dogs for several hours, to let them know in advance when we were coming home. Of course, the dogs always sense our arrival when they hear (and can distinguish) the sound of our minivan pulling into the driveway--but what if there was a way to give them an even earlier heads up? To get ready for our arrival? To let them know even a little bit sooner we were, in fact, coming back?
My idea is based on something used in TV news when heads of state give the media a so-called “Two-Minute Warning” that the leader is about to appear for a news conference or national address. It gives TV anchors and reporters a signal to prepare and to make their final comments. What if we could give the dogs their own 2-minute warning? Get ready, calm down and no need to freak out anymore. We’re coming home and are on final approach.
We still have a house phone, a land line (which has come in handy during corona with work-from-home (WFH) when your mobile device gets tied up and you need a second phone line.) When we get off the parkway, we’re approximately 2 minutes from our house. My idea was to call the house phone as we got off the parkway and let the home phone ring once. This would be a 2-minute warning for the dogs, the first alert that, yes, we’re coming home. Sara and the kids have always doubted that this might work, pointing out that other people-- mainly telemarketers--call the landline. I counter by pointing out that there’s a reason everyone remembers Pavlov’s dog.
Daisy, Sally and Junior greeting Sara, 2010
The comedian and social commentator Fran Lebowitz does not like dogs. An ironic refrain of hers from her 1977 book of essays, “Social Studies,” has stayed with me for more than 40 years, “Let the lonely lead the blind.” Lebowitz writes about her dislike of dogs.
I have not infrequently verbalized this sentiment in what now passes for polite society, and have invariably been the recipient of the information that even if dogs should be withheld from the frivolous, there would still be the blind and the pathologically lonely to think of. I am not totally devoid of compassion, and after much thought I believe that I have hit upon the perfect solution to this problem--let the lonely lead the blind. The implementation of this plan would provide companionship to the one and a sense of direction to the other, without inflicting on the rest of us the all too common spectacle of grown men addressing German shepherds in respectful tones best reserved for elderly clergyman and Internal Revenue agents.
“Let the lonely lead the blind.” With its attack on dogs, NYTimes reviewer Anatole Brovard called that joke “daring,” adding
It's a line in which humor and pathos wrestle like Jacob and the angel.
I have always been attracted to that sort of daring humor--and have always enjoyed pointing out insane ironies in even the worst of times. In part, it’s a long-established newsroom tradition of gallows humor. Make a joke about the horrible because laughing is better than crying, but writing this quiz in the time of corona has also made me reflect on myself. One of my worst traits is that I can sadly fall back on shocking people with offensive comments--especially in times of crisis and distress. In high school, a guidance counselor told me this was part of a “schlemiel” complex that I had. Schlemeil. A word that comes from Yiddish and refers to an awkward klutz. Emotionally, however, it’s my reaction to most uncomfortable situations--I deflect and turn things to the inappropriate. Googling the term as I write, I came up with this, “A person who is clumsy or who hurts others emotionally.” In writing this quiz, you should know that I’ve been reaching out to the people mentioned here--to make sure, in advance, that I do not offend them by including them in the quiz. I do react to the uncomfortable in an unusual way. I admit it’s a deflection. The truth can be hard to handle especially when the news is bad--and especially when it’s very bad. In part, for me, turning to the absurd is also an act of defiance. You’re worried about getting the virus and dying--and I’m telling you about how to let your dogs know you’re coming home 2 minutes before you get there. I'm sorry if that’s offensive. I’m certainly not trying to minimize the deadly impact of this pandemic. I hope this quiz is a diversion--but I know that it’s an extreme one at that.
And so, corona has me focused on the ironies around us. Early on, at the dinner table, we laughed about how landscape services in some suburbs were considered exempt from stay-at-home orders. How was getting your lawn cut an essential service? Still, in this stay-at-home world, if there’s any business that can still function, generating income and paying its workers, hiring a landscaping service doesn’t seem like such a bad idea if you can afford it and if you’re stuck at home--as long as the workers practice social distancing and keep themselves 6 feet apart. On our block, I’ve watched many of my neighbors spending their afternoons working in their own yards. Despite the despair of corona, spring is a time of renewal--and it gives me hope to think that with all this yard work now, at least everybody’s yard is going to look great come summer.
This morning, Sara and I got an email blast from our insurance company. They're offering stay-at-home discounts to anyone who is driving less. We are--and we’ll take the discount. One person’s ceiling is another’s floor.
I take blood pressure medicine--surprised? One of the side effects is that it gives me a persistent dry cough. Needless to say, that’s been a cause for concern during corona. Should I stop taking the blood pressure pills because they make me cough at a time when coughing freaks me (and those around me) out? And yet, I’ve never needed the blood pressure meds more. I’m reminded of the joke from Alvie Singer that ends the Woody Allen movie, “Annie Hall.” Singer says, “I thought of that old joke: this guy goes to a psychiatrist and says, 'Doc, my brother's crazy; he thinks he's a chicken.' And the doctor says, 'Well, why don't you turn him in?' The guy says, 'I would, but I need the eggs.'”
I’m fascinated by focusing on the unintended--and often odd--consequences of how things can unfold in the world--especially in these dark and uncertain times. Several weeks ago, back before the coronavirus went, well, completely viral, I was on conference calls from work that were centered on social mapping. (This all sounds like ancient history--but it was less than a month ago.) According to the CDC guidelines at the time, after investigators identified someone who’d tested positive for the virus, they would then track in reverse all the other people who’d had close contact with that infected person. To protect the privacy of those infected, it fell on the infected to give investigators a list of those people with whom they’d had “close contact” over the last 2 weeks. Here was my worry with this process: What if I’d had close contact with someone from 2 weeks ago--but they’d forgotten about it? My solution, I told a few people, work extra hard to make sure that every encounter I had with anyone was something they’d never forget. If someone I know finds out 2 weeks from now that they’re infected, I want them to look back and say, “Oh yeah, I talked with Thode. He wouldn’t stop going on about his dogs and his system for letting them know when he was 2 minutes from his house.”
Again, this was before the coronavirus guidance changed. This weekend, on Saturday April 3rd, the CDC announced that we should all be wearing masks in public because the virus can spread from just talking--and because people can be infectious even when they’re not showing symptoms.
The only time I leave my house these days is to walk the dogs. Yesterday, Monday April 5th, I wore the mask that Sara made for me this weekend. On my dog walks, I call different family members to check in. Monday night, I talked with my sister, Ginny. She could tell I was out walking the dog and asked if I was wearing my mask. I told her that I was and she wanted to know if others outside were wearing theirs. I looked around at the people within my eyesight, all at a safe social distance around the large, open school field where I walk the dogs. I told Ginny that I was the only one wearing a mask. Ginny told me that when she had walked in her neighborhood that afternoon, she frequently passed kids playing in their driveways or maybe on the deserted streets. She, too, was the only one with a mask. She was worried she was scaring the kids.
I told her that with “Caution” tape wrapped on climbing sets at playgrounds, seeing an older person in a mask should be the last thing that scared any child. On my dog walk this morning, however, I thought about it some more. The point of wearing a mask is not to protect the old people from the little kids. It’s to stop the spread of the virus from people who don’t know they have it. In short, masks protect the potentially frightened child from the possibly dangerous scary adult. Looking at it this way, seeing an adult in a mask shouldn't make a child afraid. It should make them feel valued, respected, and, yes, loved. How’s that for a social study?
What did NOT happen?
A. In a college essay, I wrote “I’d give my right arm to be Tom Seaver;”
B. In teaching coworkers about a technology tool, I repeated a Groucho Marx line, “I don’t want to be part of a group which would have me for a member;”
C. In my brain surgery quiz, I repeated a joke from a coworker’s son: “What’s the last word most people say each year?” Answer: “One;”
D. I often repeat the Lebowitz line about buying lottery tickets, “I figure you have the same chance of winning the lottery whether you play or not;”
E. In TV news, I’ve been guided by this mantra, oft repeated, “Credibility is like virginity. You can only lose it once.”
Want the answer?
Answer #22. “Social Studies,” April 7, 2020
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Here’s the next quiz in the series: Quiz #23. Poor Planning.
Here’s the previous quiz in the series: Quiz #21. “Do Your Job”.
Here’s the first quiz in the series: Quiz #1. Stella and Social Distancing, March 13, 2020
The quiz is explained here: Steve’s Stay-at-Home Coronavirus Quiz.
Here is an archive of all the quizzes.
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