Don’t you just hate it, when your socks slump down in your winter boots? When that happens to me I sometimes just take my socks off, instead of walking on lumpy, bunched up socks. My winter boots have a cozy lining—some kind of wool felt—and although I understand that academically wearing boots with no socks should feel wrong, it really just doesn’t. I have a high tolerance for oddity, I think. Today on my dog walk, I removed my poor slumpy socks and stuck them in the back pocket of my snowsuit, where they stayed until they caught on the fence as I slipped through and fell into a snowbank. I retrieved them and stuck them back in my pocket, but not before they had become thoroughly damp from the snow.

Back at home, my dog walk complete, I went into the bedroom to grab a clean and dry pair of socks. Timber came with me and jumped up onto our bed. Now, when Timber jumps up on the bed, it can mean one of two things. He might want to indulge himself in a good ear rub and neck scratch...or he might want to be left absolutely alone. When he wants an ear rub, he sits quietly and looks at me, as still as a Timbery statue. If I rub his ears, he groans and closes his eyes, pushing his head against my hand. If I stop rubbing, he sometimes picks up one of his big paws and slaps my hand. “More, human”, is the best interpretation I can suss out. And of course I deliver—what does a human exist for, if not in service to Timber?

When Timber wants to be left completely alone, he sits quietly, and looks at me, as still as a Timbery statue. Yes, you read that right: Timber gives no body language sign whatsoever about his wishes. Perhaps there is an olfactory signal that I, with my sub-par human sniffer system, can’t detect? Perhaps Timber is saying “do you even vomeronasal, bro?”

But luckily for me, Timber has another way to communicate: his actual voice. When I approach him to pat him on those days when he doesn’t want patting, Timber growls, lightly. When Timber growls, he is asking to be left alone, in a wonderfully clear way. And of course, I listen: I leave him be. What does a human exist for, if not to be of service to Timber?

I love that Timber speaks to me so easily and so clearly, and Timber, I believe, loves that he can make his wishes known and have them attended to. Timber is not particularly upset by my approach, as it often predicts something which he clearly enjoys. Before I became comfortable with Timber’s particular foibles, I was worried about his seeming duality. “Is he a victim of my unwanted attention?” But no, he clearly enjoys patting...when he enjoys patting. So I’ve come to see his clear communication about his inner state to be something I can both appreciate and learn from. Don’t like something in my life? Follow Timber’s example. Don’t seethe or settle or simmer in it quietly, don’t play the victim, and don’t invite conflict. Just be upfront, if at all possible. Don’t like your socks, bunched up around your instep? Just take them off, with a bit of a growl, if you want. Toss ’em in a snowbank. It’s Timber-approved.

"When Timber Talks, I'm All Ears": How to Empower Your Dog to Choose For Themselves