Are Dogs Consummate Con Artists …

As part of my professional work, I’ve have more than a nodding acquaintance with a considerable number of con artists, flimflammers, swindlers, mountebanks, hustlers and charlatans. But no matter what name is used for bunco artists, they all operate the same way: They identify the victim — who is he/she, what does he/she want and how can I play on that desire to achieve what I want?

By the time things begin to look dicey to the victims of a fraud, they tend to be so invested, emotionally and often physically, in the con game that they do most of the persuading to continue being a victim of the scam themselves. When they are completely fleeced, most victims still don't quite know what hit them. Most of these crooks are charming individuals highly skilled at targeting people whose weaknesses or strengths can be used to their advantage, and they know what buttons to push to prey on folks’ emotions. When things go wrong, they either blame others or are properly apologetic, but they’re never repentant. 

If this description of how con artists operate sounds suspiciously familiar, it’s probably because it is. Objectively, the way these snake-oil salesmen/women operate bears a really close resemblance to how things go in my relationship with my dogs. For that matter, the same can be said for virtually every dog person I’ve ever interviewed or even just casually chatted with about their dogs. Every one has ultimately admitted that their dogs have them trained to do what the dog wants. Dogs make a highly successful con artist like Bernie Madoff look like a dilettante by comparison.

Dogs know how to pick your pocket and leave you happy you were able to expend vast sums purely for their comfort. They take from everyone — rich, poor, in between, it doesn’t matter. They are true equal-opportunity scammers. They vandalize property so thoroughly that a professional wrecking crew could only stand aside and admire their work. They unashamedly steal food off your plate, off the kitchen counter and from any other unguarded area. If they were your neighbors or a roommate, you’d be talking to a lawyer, or to the police.  

Ah, please pet me!

Need more examples? How about we feed them rations that are far more exotic on a daily basis than what we feed ourselves? Who gets their ears scratched, tummy rubbed or summons pets and pats merely by looking soulful? Who convinces us to purchase treats that per ounce exceed the cost of filet mignon? Many of us sleep next to a dog at night and we buy toys long after our own children have not only graduated from a university but have earned advanced degrees. There are even some of us who pamper dogs in spas while we make do with a quick shower, buy them expensive clothes while our own wardrobe looks like something a hobo wouldn’t be caught dead wearing, and push them around in all-terrain strollers or carry them in fashion designer totes while what we use for transportation looks like a junkyard reject.

We carry them in fashion designer totes while what we use for transportation looks like a junkyard reject.

We can get quite smug at times, we Homo sapiens. We get to thinking that we’re pretty smart having succeeded in manipulating our environment to meet our needs, a feat we view as unique to humans. Well, we’re dead wrong. Dogs have succeeded in this endeavor, in fact are even better at it than we are, and they have done so without so much as saying a single word.

Take for example, the current canine resident of my household. He’s free to nap just about any time he chooses. If, for some reason he’s denied the run of the house — such as when my housekeeper runs the vacuum cleaner and he attempts to “help” her with this chore — he becomes a lounge lizard in what a friend of mine calls “the dog condo,” a giant-sized crate with an orthopedic dog bed with three inches of memory foam in my office. He has his food prepared for him — food, which, incidentally, costs roughly the equivalent of last year’s defense-department budget per bag. His food is served by an attentive waiter at no cost, and all he has to do is sit down on a comfy rug to have it placed before him.

He visits his personal doctor at least once a year for a complete check-up, more often if an issue arises, and regularly visits the clinic for pedicures. He works less than a month each year, and he lives in a nice neighborhood in a house that is much larger than he needs. He doesn’t contribute a dime to its upkeep, and if he makes a mess, someone else cleans it up. His toy box is overflowing. He has his choice of cozy places to sleep, and he gets these accommodations at no charge. If he wants to play, there is always someone willing to keep him company and pay the bill when that’s part of the fun. All his expenses are paid, and all his needs are provided for by someone else. That’s serious manipulation by any definition of the word.  

Many of us sleep next to a dog.

These once vicious carnivores have become so clever that they have conned us into providing birthday parties for them, brushing their teeth and spending more money for a haircut for them than we would for a half-dozen of our own. Dogs are definitely not stupid. They study us until they figure out which buttons they need to press to get what they want, and they respond to virtually anyone who gives them food and attention. But in most cases, they don’t need any prolonged study period. They know from the time their eyes open how to play humans like a banjo in a bluegrass hoedown. Baby puppies seemingly know instinctively how to give us that little head-tilt, and if that doesn’t get the desired response, they know enough to move to sad puppy eyes accompanied by sympathy-invoking whimpers. If both ploys fail, how about a little ear licking? They seem to know that all these tricks work from the git-go.  

However, the way the dogs con us often goes well beyond head-tilting, sad-puppy eyes, pathetic whimpers or ear licking. They have, for example, ways of maneuvering us off the bed when they want to get up, and it’s usually not the time we would choose for our morning wake-up. My dog’s technique, when he decides it is time for both of us to get up, is to jump up on the bed, assuming he hasn’t already established his presence there in a spot that he likes. He then proceeds to circle at least a half-dozen times, and who anyone can sleep through the circling of a 100-pound dog must be a genetic clone of Rip Van Winkle. 

Once I’m at least semi-conscious, usually by moaning, “Either lay down or go find someplace else to sleep,” he waits until I relax and again doze off. Then, he begins shifting his position on the bed about every 30 seconds or so. It becomes much like trying to sleep through an earthquake. If that does not produce the required results or worse (from his perspective), it is followed by, “Be still, dammit. It’s not time to get up yet” in response to the canine-induced quake. He will pretend to comply until I’ve dozed off. Then it’s escalation time, which he does by standing up, moving into position and panting and drooling on my face, in my ear and any other part of my body not protected by a sheet or a blanket. Needless to say, if his previous efforts have ended in failure, this technique has NEVER failed to succeed in getting me out of bed, if only to avoid drowning in dog slobber.

The dogs are pampered in spas while their owners make do with a quick shower.

Blaming others or always being apologetic when things go wrong but never repentant? A Catholic priest friend contends that dogs are born knowing how to manipulate the guilt instilled in anyone with a Judeo-Christian upbringing. He ought to know, as he’s lived with a pair of rescued Greyhounds who, on numerous occasions, have been very happy to con their owner and then make him feel guilty for reprimanding them.    

One day, for example, he arrived home after a long, depressing day of trying to provide comfort for the critically ill and dying only to discover that his rotten day had not yet reached its nadir. In desperate need of some canine love and comfort, instead he was greeted by the remains of his sofa, which had been torn to pieces of foam and fabric the size of a snowflake by one or both of the Greyhounds. He was never able to determine the actual culprit because each dog blamed the other and, when that didn’t seem to be working, the cat.  

While it was true that both dogs acted apologetic, it was a sham. Neither had any intention of repenting. In fact, the priest suspected that both were secretly pleased with their accomplishment. That they were slinking about with their tails down for a few minutes at the height of his tirade was only a show whose objective was to make him feel guilty for having yelled at them. He admitted that perhaps he should have gone to confession the next day as he repeatedly had violated the Third Commandment during the clean-up, even calling down a few curses not heard since the days of William Shakespeare. But despite the heat of his language, the Greyhounds clearly were not impressed, as their grievance in their view —being left home alone all day — clearly trumped any mere sofa destruction and was wholly justified in retaliation for the priest’s sin.

Dogs whine mournfully, howl, bark, greet us effusively or cringe abjectly in order to get us to do what they want. They long ago mastered the art of manipulation, and they play us for the suckers that we are like fishing legends Bill Dance, Jimmy Houston and Roland Martin play a bass that has been fooled into hitting their lures. As is the case with most victims of human flimflammery, we never seem to learn and so are repeatedly victimized. We keep coming back, again and again, dog after dog, allowing ourselves to be controlled by these incredible con artists with wagging tails, sloppy kisses, smiles and irresistible faces, powerless to resist their wiles. 

So, the answer to the question posed in the headline — are dogs consummate con artists — is clearly yes. And we are the dogs’ willing pigeons happily waiting to be plucked.