Dog Pawse

Early in my doctorate studies at the University, I remember getting into a heated argument with one of my peers about the dog’s capacity to feel emotions. My classmate, an otherwise brilliant man, vehemently insisted that dogs were simply dumb animals that did not possess emotional depth.

At the time, I remember trying to prove my case by providing all sorts of examples and scientific evidence to convince my classmate that dogs DO live emotional lives. Never having forgotten this argument, over the years I have become the doggy Jane Goodall of gathering evidence that demonstrates the canine emotional range.

The dog’s capacity for empathy is of particular interest to me, as I think that this unique experience of interspecies understanding is what makes dogs excellent for therapy work. In fact, the concept of the “wounded healer” has been, in part, an underlying motivation for using dogs that have recovered from severe burns in therapy work with human burn victims. Similarly, dogs rescued from abusive situations are commonly included within support groups for battered women.

Through my own fact-finding inquiries, I have no doubt that dogs have the ability to know when a human is feeling bad. I’ve lost count of the number of people who have told me stories of the family dog who did not leave their side during a bout with the flu. I’ve read tales of dogs who have pulled depressed owners out of bed and I even scrap-booked an article about a German Shepherd that stole a bottle of prescription painkillers from an owner who had intended to commit suicide.

I was recently excited by a new and amazing personal experience with canine empathy after having cut one of my fingers very badly. It was a severe gash that should have gotten sutures, but instead I stupidly opted for three weeks of band-aids. For the first couple of nights I placed my hand way up under my pillow for protection while I slept. It just so happened that at this same time one of my dogs was also healing from a painful cut that had required a vet visit the week before my finger mishap.

On the third night of sleeping with my hand under the pillow, I was awakened in the wee hours of the morning by my dog as she insistently pawed at the elbow of my hidden hand. She kept up until I finally moved my hand out from under the pillow and showed her my wrapped wound. She licked at the big gauze bandage on my throbbing finger and gave a concerned whimper and then turned to her own bandage and gave a sniff. After acknowledging our shared state, she cuddled beside me and went to sleep. Now, when I look at the scar I do not think about the pain. Instead, I think about the emotional healing that came from the empathic nuzzle from my furry friend.