Secrets…we all have ‘em. They’re disguises we hide behind.
My dog Bogey has been acting strangely lately. He must have a secret he’s not sharing. I know this because his eyes give him away. Just when I think I have picked up on some clue, they dart away. Prying out secrets from dogs or humans is an art, not a science.
I’ve been trying for a long time to get him to come clean, to reveal those secret instincts that push his button, that expose his inner character. But all I’m getting are bits and pieces of his canine nature. They offer up only hints and glimpses into his true self.
Maybe he’s enjoying leading me on a hide and seek chase. He’s not saying. I can only speculate. If he could talk beyond what his eyes and body postures reveal, he might ask me why I have this perverse curiosity of attempting to intrude into his psyche. A good question for all of us.
He might even speculate that exposing his secrets would subject him to being manipulated or controlled. All he offers up is some obscure quote, “The desert is mute, littered with bones of dogs that reveal secrets.”
But he is an expert in the art of manipulating compassionate humans. He was born with this talent. Admittedly my motives may be suspect, and he might even distrust my methods for extracting his secrets. Bribery with chicken is less than subtle. Who knows what’s in a dog’s mind. Or a human, for that matter.
Still, I keep trying. Some days I notice small progress, noting carefully what my observations reveal. Mostly his eyes show a lot of what he’s not saying. They’re a dead giveaway.
But eyes give us all away. Just the other day I saw a friend in the parking lot. She was visibly effervescent and eager to talk. I wondered why? Did she have a secret to unload? I asked.
“You’re acting especially young and full of energy today. What’s the occasion?”
“No occasion, just reliving the fires of last weekend.”
Ah, I think, she has a secret that’s bursting at the seams to get out. And this is an open door. My curiosity and I walk right in.
“Fires? Did you light a match, burn something down?”
“No, went to Cumberland Island with friends for a few days.”
Her eyes seem to beg for more interrogation, so I oblige.
“Was wine involved? Who can go camping on an island without appropriate libations?”
Her face lights up. “Absolutely, and a full moon to boot.”
“Well, if there was fruit of the vine, then there must have been a beach, a blanket and a fire, right?” I stoke the embers of her still-burning fire by mentioning that inhibitions are volatile and highly flammable in the ambiance of these conditions.
“Of course.” Her response is a measured caution. I sense that I have stirred the ashes of some sweet secret she has stored from those fires.
“Want to share any details?” Perhaps this inquiry was too direct and had crossed a line. But hey, curiosity has no boundaries.
Suddenly there is silence between us as the question sinks in. The veil of secrecy is about to be rent.
(And in that brief space of time, I recall having told Bogey that there’s relief in revealing his hidden secrets. But just when I’m closing in, he finds a sniff or other diversion to distract his attention. So much for “closet” secrets. Instantly I’m back to square one, which is where I find myself now.)
She dodges my question by fiddling with her car keys and looking at her watch. Her eyes avoid mine. Her secret locks itself in tight and slams the door shut.
She blows me off with some French cliché, “Autres temps, autres moeurs, another time, another place,” laughing and walking off. My curiosity and I dangle like limp rags hanging on the door handle.
So much for being a parking-lot voyeur intruding into the intimate secrets of a friend. Some details are best left proprietary. And maybe the same is true of dogs. Chicken bribing and tummy tickles work pretty well.
After all, I don’t really need to know Bogey’s secrets. It’s enough to just enjoy his company. Same with friends.
Bud Hearn
October 31, 2022