Harriet’s Whisperer | Mary’s Farm

A visit from an animal behaviorist leads to an unusual change in Harriet. Whatever happened between them I’ll never really know.

My dog, Harriet, is now the size of a hearty lamb but is mostly black, her face and legs the color of gingersnaps. She has matured into a reasonably well-mannered dog, but she still has this way of badgering visitors. I don’t know what her message is. Sometimes I think our solitary life together has spawned a kind of resistance in her to any intrusions from other humans. She’s gentle in her delivery, but her message seems to be: Go away, we’re busy here. Other times I think she’s simply overwhelmed with the excitement of welcoming a new person into the house. Whatever she’s trying to say, she jumps up, wiggles, whines, and basically makes a big scene. I’ve tried several methods to discourage this, but whenever a new guest arrives, she just melts down and does it all over again. Beyond that, if the guest is going to eat with us, she insists on joining us for the meal, whining, begging, putting her paws on guests’ thighs. In short, she’s obnoxious. But, as other terrier owners know, training a terrier is like making water flow uphill.

Last summer, for various reasons, a man I knew to be a well-regarded animal behaviorist came here for a brief stay. When he called to make arrangements, I cunningly thought, Oh, maybe he can give Harriet a few lessons. From what I’d read, I knew that aside from being a small-animal vet, Vint worked at the Roger Williams Park Zoo in Providence, Rhode Island, with large animals like elephants and tigers. If he could work with rhinos, surely he could influence a little border terrier. I couldn’t wait for him to meet Harriet. I’d told him about her but had stopped short of asking for his help.

Harriet and I were standing in the kitchen when he knocked on the door. I beckoned him inside. He slid the glass door open and stepped in. Rather than rushing to greet him as she does virtually all visitors, Harriet sat beside me, stock still. It was as though she’d been shot by a stun gun. I said, “Harriet, come meet Vint!” and walked over to greet him. I wondered whether maybe he had a trace of elephant dung on his shoes. Harriet simply seemed in awe. Vint knelt and rubbed Harriet’s ears and neck. She responded with friendly wiggles. I showed him his room, and afterwards we sat and talked. Harriet lingered warily beside me and finally, to my total surprise, lay down and stretched out on the floor between us. Vint didn’t seem to notice. He was on a tour for his new book, The Soul of All Living Creatures, a powerful exploration of the mystical connection between man and animal, and he had a lot of appointments to meet while he was in town. So he was off and running. Harriet was quiet after he left, settling beside me on the couch while I read.

The next morning, I made breakfast for Vint, and once again, Harriet lay quietly on the floor between us. I was astonished but mentioned nothing. Let him think she’s an angel, I thought to myself. Pretty soon it was time to say goodbye. Once again, Harriet stood next to me, watching him leave.

Was it my imagination that she behaved differently after he left? Maybe not. Visits from old friends seemed to evoke a similar response: “Harriet is a changed dog!” many said as she sat contentedly while we all chatted in the living room or ate at the table. Was Vint a dog whisperer? I hadn’t noticed him whispering to her; in fact, he’d spent little time with her. But what is a whisperer? I suppose whatever the magic is, it’s just between the two of them, and it probably happens very quietly. 

Edie Clark’s books, including her newest, As Simple As That: Collected Essays, are now available at: edieclark.com