NOTE: If you haven’t been following this from the beginning, and if you want to know the full sequence of events, start with the introduction. Click on Archives on the right.
Steve Strether stands outside his house holding his new West Highland Terrier puppy.
“Hi Fred, meet Ossian,”
Ossian struggles to get free, sniffing my hand, and then licks my little finger, which might have faint residues of breakfast marmalade.
“Where did you pick him up?”
“He flew Delta into Calvin Coolidge with his travel nanny.”
“Quite an adventure!”
“Yes, he came in a backpack.”
“Like a papoose.”
“Well, not that confined but fully contained.”
“Seems stifling, though.”
“No, it was constructed like a crate, with vents.”
“A portable Fingal’s cave!”
“Accessible from an ocean of air.”
“When was this?”
“A few Wednesdays ago.”
“So, he has less than a month’s experience around here.”
“He will probably be known as Ossy”
“Or Ozzy”
“No, that would be misleading.”
“Well, yes, he is Scottish not Australian.”
“Looks pretty frisky.”
“Watch this.”
Steve puts him on the ground, and he stands there looking up at us with his white furry ‘Yoda’ ears swiveling towards the house.
“He seems in no hurry today.”
Ossian turns his head towards the house. Pulls on his flexible leash.
“See, there he goes!”
He runs a couple of yards, over to the front door, where bel stands on the threshold. Furry Josephine drips from her arms displaying her massive fluffy tail and two paws over bel’s arm.
“Your cat seems to have doubled in size, bel.”
“It’s all Persian fur.”
“I never knew she was a Persian.”
“Being a rescue, we weren’t sure until recently.”
Steve fumbles with the leash handle.
“It’s the new food!”
Ossian hesitates between her feet before going in and then coming back. The leash is now fully extended and wound around bel’s left ankle. He can’t move beyond her shoes. Ossian settles next to bel’s foot to gnaw her leather shoe.
“You see, that’s dog logic!”
“Terriers aren’t regarded as all that intelligent, are they?”
“Fred, it depends on how you think of it.”
“Well, not like sheepdogs!”
“No, that is thinking about a dog’s intelligence in terms of how well we can communicate with them.”
“Exactly, sheepdogs are remarkable for their training.”
“Well, think of the fact that terriers, for instance, smell and hear far more than we do.”
“Yes, famously, and so do sheepdogs!”
“Ossian’s mind is engaged with a whole range of sensations that we can’t access.”
“Obviously.”
“My point is his breed are very good at hunting rodents.”
“Okay.”
“We can’t understand their intelligence because our experience is so different.”
“Yes, I suppose sheepdogs are focused differently.”
“As Lambert demonstrated, you have to go in, to come out, and come out, to go in. So, the optimal position is in the doorway!”
“He is only a pup.”
“Dog logic develops early.”
“Hard wired, you think?’
“Most likely.”
“They can’t abstract it, though.”
“You mean talk about it?”
“Right, they seem to know what angle to run at a rodent and cut it off.”
“Some poor human would have to do geometry for that.”
“No, I think we have the same capacity.”
“Yes, I remember that as a child, chasing a ball.”
“But you can’t explain or teach instinctual ability you just possess it.”
“What does that mean?”
“Instinctive behavior isn’t learned. So, strictly speaking, it isn’t knowledge.”
“Well, okay but that is not ordinary usage.”
“Steve, you better come and release us from this bind.”
Ossian is tugging on his harness, squeaking and letting out high-pitched barks.
Steve walks over to the doorway letting the leash slacken. Ossian senses an opportunity and jumps forward tightening the leash again. He is pulled up short within a length.
“You are going to have to pick him up, Steve.”
He moves toward Ossian who dodges him, extending his forepaws playfully.
Ossy responds to a treat from Steve’s pocket, stopping long enough for Steve to scoop him up.
“Okay, bel.”
“Okay what? It isn’t any looser.”
Josephine looks down with her tail swishing from under bel’s arm. Bel puts her down, bends over and loosens the leash and steps out of the loop.
“Steve, the cat!”
Ossian is scrambling after Josephine who is staring and hissing at him. She jumps up onto a tall flowerpot and sits in a stately pose under a sunbeam. Before Steve can restrain him, Ossy is reaching up on his hind legs and gets smacked on the nose by a swift feline left.
Ossy moves on, dashing toward Arty Bliemish’s, “Tulp Stone”.
We follow him over.
“That thing has stood up to the elements pretty well.”
“The resin coating is getting a little harder to see through each year.”
“It is also getting a coat of urine!”
“Does that count as canine appreciation, bel?”
“Well, I guess it is a message center at least.”
Ossy runs around the sculpture and is pulled up short again when he reaches the full extent of the leash.
Bel is on the south side.
“Look at it from here.”
Steve frees Ossi from windings of leash and clicks the handle to stop it extending further.
“You can see the process right through.”
“Every chip in the stone is a thought!”
Bel looks back at Josephine who hasn’t moved from her flowerpot.
“What’s that Fred?”
“You can see Arty’s deliberations.”
“Oh yes, her thoughts in chisel marks.”
Steve checks Ossy numerous times with a click of the leash handle. Finally, Ossy comes back toward him.”
“I don’t think anyone else around here has art in their yard.”
“You know Fred, Ernst Gombrich claimed that there is no such thing as art. There are only artists.”
“So, Steve, what is all that stuff in galleries and museums?”
“It is the work of artists.”
“Agreed, they are art objects.”
“I take his point to be that the objects are works rather than products.”
“What’s the difference?”
“A product is a saleable object.”
“Well, so is artwork.”
“The work can’t be sold.”
“Why?”
“Because the work is intangible.”
“Well yes, it is activity.”
“Yup, sensory and mechanical.”
“But there is a product though!”
“The product isn’t the art. The process that made it, is art.”
Bel picks up a twig to distract Ossi.
“Fred, the activity is that of the artist’s mind and hand.”
Ossian has the cuff of Steve’s pants in his mouth. With his forepaws pressed against the ground he pulls to separate a shred.
“Off Ossi, Off!”
Ossi looks up for a moment, ignoring the twig. His vision hidden from us in the two shiny black marbles of his eyes and then continues his labor. Ossian keeps his grip on the cuff.
Bel calls Ossian but he doesn’t take much notice of human vocalizations that aren’t accompanied by a treat.
“That dog is going to rip your pants, Steve.”
Steve shakes Ossian’s collar, but his grip doesn’t give. He growls and gets a better grip in a split-second movement of his jaws.
Steve reaches for his treat pocket and drops a dog biscuit next to his shoe, but Ossy doesn’t notice it on the other side of Steve’s foot.
