We took some edibles and contemplated the nature of the universe
How about you be me for a while, and I'll be you?
Last week’s post, had it been written, would have been called “We went to the vet” and it would have been very depressing. Joe’s seasonal allergies kicked in. He got itchy and had to wear his scratch-prevention collar.
He’s feeling better now. But the Fourth of July is coming, and in our neighborhood, that means firecrackers all night long. Joe does not like loud bangs. You might say he fears them, though he’s very gentlemanly about his fear. If he hears something while we’re out on a walk, he turns abruptly, yet gracefully, and walks briskly and purposefully in the direction of home. If we’re already at home and no one can see him, he cowers and cries. (I am so sorry to expose you this way, Joe.)
We have tried all sorts of things to allay his panic. The thing that works best is a trip to Grandma’s house out in the suburbs, where the neighborhood association prohibits firecrackers. When that fails, we try CDB and hemp treats.
It has been pointed out1 that weed has gotten much less cool since it became legal.2 A sign: there are multiple dispensaries out in the suburbs where I grew up, and one of them offers a senior citizen discount on Wednesdays.3 But why does this have to be a performance of coolness? All it means is that you get a dependable product that you can enjoy in private. Let nothing, especially the opinions of teenagers, come between you and the doors of perception!
I don’t know where Joe’s thoughts go to when he takes his doggie edibles. Mine, under both CBD and THC, wander all sorts of places in ways that, frankly, entertain me.4 It’s very nice when you can enjoy and be surprised by your stream of consciousness instead of ruminating over the same boring worries over and over again.
One evening, we took our edibles and went for a walk and started wondering what would happen if we could magically trade places, like in those body swap movies from the 80s. What would it be like for Joe to walk on two legs instead of four and give up his powerful sense of smell for better vision? What would it be like for him to speak English? (What would his speaking voice sound like???5) What would it be like for me to smell all the things he smells? What would it be like to finally crack the code of the pee messages he seems to find everywhere?
The more I thought about it, though, the more I considered that suddenly transitioning from the dog to human experience of the world, or vice versa, would be overwhelming, maybe so much so that it would short out our little brains. Also, I know I would try to think and intellectualize everything. I would compare and contrast and analyze and inevitably, I would start thinking that one way of being was better, and of course it was not the one I was in at the moment. Or, once I transitioned back, part of me would always be yearning for particular aspects of the day I was a dog.
The best way to trade places would be to do it in a way that would eliminate comparisons and nostalgia. I think Joe agreed with me on this point. At least, he didn’t argue. (Joe’s method of arguing on walks is to stand still and refuse to move.) What if, I asked, we were just left with lingering impressions of dog-ness or human-ness, like the aftermath of a dream? We would still have the chance to understand each other better, but it would lead to a sort of empathy instead of envy.
I thought this was pretty brilliant. I think Joe agreed. We talked it over a little more, until we got home. Then Joe climbed into bed and settled in for his evening nap, because the official purpose of the dog edibles are to make him mellow and sleepy, not to engender any thoughts about the nature of the universe. But I think this is limiting. Why shouldn’t Joe get to have stoner thoughts, too, even if his are probably nonverbal? Or maybe not. I truly wish I knew what it was like to be a dog. Specifically Joe.
Have you ever had mind-expanding conversations with your dog? Please share your insights in the comments.
Dog content of the week
Here is a picture of Barry Manilow and his dog Bagel6 that totally proves Maggie’s theory that humans start to look like their dogs. Bagel needs a t-shirt that says “I Love Barrys.”
In the book The Ministry of Time and probably elsewhere, but the book is my current obsession and if it’s yours too and you want to discuss, hit me up.
In Illinois, that was January 1, 2020, a rare instance of impeccable cosmic timing.
10 percent off with ID!
This Substack was conceived under the influence of a CBD tincture.
I imagine, given his Alabama puppyhood and his deep bark, he would sound like Polite Elvis. He would thank everyone very much and address everyone older than him as “sir” or “ma’am.”
Barry never had a dog named Mandy.