My oldest son is watching a friend’s dog.
Let’s just call the dog Chloë, because well, that’s her name.
The dog is small, has long white fur and a tiny face. Her owner knows her pedigree, but we are not that smart. We just know she is cute. We are not “dog people”, but we like dogs, especially cute little white ones, it turns out. (I am using “we”, but actually I am just a passerby in this story.)
Chloë has a preprogrammed dog food dish. It drops a certain number of kibbles (or whatever you call dog food – and is kibble pural or is “kibbles” correct?) into her bowl at predetermined times throughout the day.
Here’s the thing – Little Miss Chloë is usually there waiting, and, even though she isn’t always sitting there waiting, she never sits at her bowl unless a food drop is imminent. Chloë knows.
How does she know?
There are no clues – she is in a strange house surrounded by strangers. Her master and major clue-giver is far, far away.
I am impressed, because I usually have no clue when I am going to make dinner and eat dinner. And, I have found myself as a guest many times wondering when the hosts are going to serve dinner. Some folks set the table early or before guests arrive and yet dinner appears much later. Or appetizers and drinks go on for hours, and I begin to wonder if they are dinner, and yet somehow, Chloë knows.
Is this a parlor trick, evidence of great intelligence or simply perfect timing? Is Chloë messing with our heads? Is the whole thing a huge coincidence?