To look at Boone is to think “dog of very little brain”. After all, his skull is barely bigger than my fist, and he spends the greater part of his day searching out the biggest sunspot in which to sprawl his big striped self. How many neurons can possibly be firing?

I think an animal’s intelligence is less a simple label of “smart” or “dumb” and more a measure of it’s response to the events and environment in which it exists. I also believe that as the one with the opposable thumbs it’s my responsibility to figure out what makes him tick, be it a word, a treat, a toy or a free pass to Petsmart, and after four years together, it turns out there’s a full scoop of kibble in this dog’s bowl. He will consent to the basic “here”, “sit”, “down”, as well as the emergency “hey, Hey, HEY” and “I SAID NO!” commands, but his true genius shines in his independent study.

For example, Boone understands that the yellow tote bag and green fleece mean story time with a young reader, which also means either a walk or a ride. Yea! Good Dog!

He gets (most of the time) that lying on the green fleece, listening to a young reader is much preferable to standing at the door, staring out at anybody other than the young reader. Treats for my four-legged friend!

He knows that when I change out of the barn overalls and into the walking pants, we’re headed outside for our morning scratch and sniff. Yahoo!

He’s learned that a cat with claws gets priority seating. Such a savvy sighthound!

And though his eyes clearly express his sympathetic certainty of the futility of my efforts to zip my freshly laundered and dryer-shrunk jeans, he simply turns his head and looks the other way.

Brilliant.