Reflections on a Sitting Dog

We sat at the table eating dinner. The dog joined us as he always does, preferring to be in the room when we are there and often waiting to eat his kibble until we sit down to join him. But on this night, he didn't eat his food or find his comfortable spot under the table against Ben's feet. On this night he sat at the edge of the rug with his back to us gazing over his shoulder looking at the wall.

He just sat there. Motionless. Staring.

No, that wasn't it. He wasn't starting at the wall. He was staring at the mirror that was sitting on the floor leaning against the wall. Expressionless. Motionless. He sat there gazing over his shoulder at the expressionless, motionless image of a little black and tan dog that looked just like him.

What was going on in that head? There was something clicking to keep him still for so long. What neurons were firing to what effect?

How long would it take? How much staring? How many generations of little black and tan dogs sitting pensively staring would it take before the next shoe dropped? And what would that next shoe be?

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some scribbled notes from ca. nov03

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