HanktheDog Blog

We all have our moments of goofiness. The thing is, humans try to play down those moments. Labradors, on the other hand, relish them.

Mike and Molly are always pointing out my goofiness. There's the goofy way I walk around the kitchen even while munching my dry food, spilling it along the linoleum as I go. (See, I just don't want to miss any action, so I like eating while keeping my eyes on my human packmates when possible.) Or there's the goofy butt tucking I've dlogged about before, or the goofy way I like to rub my back while walking under the dining room table during meals. (See, the table's just the right height, and I like to watch the alarm of inexperienced dinner guests who think they're experiencing a Florida earthquake as the whole table lifts and shifts).

Then, there's the goofy way I sometimes run through the water, especially when cranes, herons and any of those other insufferably elegant wading fowl are out there voguing about. And there's the goofiness of a giant lab rolling and lolling on his back in the wee morning hours so that half-asleep humans will rub my belly and drum his chest.

The list could, of course, go on, but my point is this: I've noticed that humans secretly adore it even if sometimes giving us a hard time about it. They don't want to seem goofy around one another (unless there's wine involved), but there's a love for humans on TV who act goofy. My guess is that every human has an inner goof dying to break out. In fact, my theory is that we dogs often help them free their inner goofs when they're alone with us in our living rooms or the back yards. Ever see the goofy expressions humans use on their canines, or the utterly goofy language they use? ("Haaankkeeee," mocks Molly, pretending the stuffed squirrel can speak and making it dance along the floor in an effort to get me to chase it. Goof rating? Four and a half biscuits, I'd give it.)

I adore humans when they get goofy. I'm just sorry they can't be goofy more often on their own. It's quite liberating, if not always pretty. For example, I've seen Mike dance. It's sight I wouldn't miss, but even I feel a tad embarassed for him. It makes my butt tucking look like a ballet, and it's just as dangerous to bystanders. And goofy? My goodness, yes. Give him five out five dog biscuits, with maybe a Scooby snack thrown in as a bonus. If there were a Westminster Human Show and judges were looking for goofiness, then Mike's dancing would certainly win them over. And I would be there, so very happy for him, telling him what a good, good goofy boy he is. My very own Best in Show goofy goofy boy.