animal_quills | The Canine-Person Companion

Suggested by another canine person, this essay touches on what socialization, friendships, and partnerships feel like for me as a canine person. It is a little mushier than I usually tend to be, but I felt like restraining that in this case made the writing miss the mark a bit.

The Canine-Person Companion

Friendship and relationships for canine people

(This shouldn’t be necessary, but just in case: standard disclaimer here that what’s written here are my perspectives and experiences alone; these words should not be used to confirm or deny your own experiences, validate or delegitimize your own inner animal, denigrate or exalt your relationships, or diagnose or treat any disease. Your mileage may vary. Batteries not included.)

I cannot lay claim to the clear simplicity of dogs’ love. But I think there is at least something of the nature of canine love in the heart of the canine-person.

Both wild canids and dogs are noted for their expressiveness to others, their attachment to mates or close associates, and their devotion. Most wild canids are (generally) monogamous and maintain long-lasting relationships. Domestic dogs are famously faithful.

The expression of affection and love from a human canine, or canine-person, in my experience, bears some similarities. My own feelings about love and affection color the way I form relationships and pose some difficulties for me in navigating standard American culture.

First, there’s the sterility of it, devoid of physical touch. Watch any group of canids and you’ll see much jostling, bumping, pawing, contact always. I crave this kind of interaction - it seems natural to nudge, to lean against, to shoulder or hip-bump in gesture, in greeting, as affection.

There’s nowhere for this feeling to go. It seems to me it should be casual, but it’s not, at least after high school. American culture is mostly bereft of casual contact; the most you might see is a handshake. Oftentimes, touch is seen as sexual. So I tend to walk through most of my life a bit touch-starved, and I have to try to moderate my interactions so that my friendliness isn’t misinterpreted as flirtation.

With friends, there’s often a little flexibility, and many of my closest friends have been the ones willing to play a little rough, verbally or otherwise. Banter and roughhousing have been key to many of my friendships. Some of the good-natured teasing with my closest friends can shock the outside observer. But it’s the verbal equivalent to an inhibited bite, that seemingly vicious but carefully applied play-attack. It’s a show of intimacy and care to demonstrate that you know where the boundary is and won’t cross it. We play rough with each other because we know each other well and love the game. And if occasionally a fanged remark lands awry, all it takes is one whine and a pause to acknowledge the error. Then game on.

With very good friends, there’s also often been physical roughhousing. I’m not terribly fond of organized sports, but a good informal tussle is welcomed, and I’m keen to get back into martial arts eventually. One friend has introduced me to acro-yoga as well, a circus-like and more cooperative type of physical interaction - again, it brings the simple joy of touch with bonding and building of trust. Knowing one another’s strengths and physical trust seem like no-brainers for animals that are often cooperative hunters. But simply being fun-seeking and easily caught in the sympathetic joy of a mutual game also seems to be common among the canine-people I know.

Many of us also seem to have a strong drive toward having a small, stable, and close-knit social group. Of course, this is also often true of humans, but a lot of canine people I know, especially the more wild-animal sort, find casual interaction lacking. A social group is supposed to be more enmeshed than that, symbiotic and reliable. It is a difficult thing to establish after adolescence, unless you’ve got a lot of family around. Many canine people I know tend to crave that connection and miss old friend groups perpetually. Getting dinner every second Tuesday of the month to sit and have polite conversation with work friends doesn’t cut it.

Another commonality seems to be expressiveness. A canine person likes to be unrestrained and unselfconscious in expression - even to the point of silliness. Coyotes are especially known for extreme expressions and gestures. I likewise find myself tending toward gesticulations, postures, and almost Jim Carrey-level facial expressions - the best I can do without a long, fangy muzzle, tall swiveling ears, hackles, and a tail!

Of course, in public, I keep most of it to what I hope is an acceptable level, the same as I do with any kind of physical interaction. I am not often outspoken about being an animal person, but a partner needs to know and be able to accept it - happily, mine is more than just okay with it! And so the full canine assortment of candid affection comes bursting out. I run and leap into my spouse’s waiting arms, showering him with kisses and wiggling with delight in his grasp. He delights in my twitterpated, giddy nuzzles, love bites, and full-body rolling on him. To be able to be so unbridled and demonstrative with my feelings is a great joy and a relief to the frustrations that come with human bodies and expectations.

I am fortunate to have a partner who understands and welcomes my brand of affection - as well as recognizes and isn’t made jealous by displays of affection towards friends. But certainly there are ups and downs to living with a person who is also a wild animal. Like any good dog, I’m emotionally responsive, open, and sensitive. But the neuroses of the wild creature come out in hypervigilance. The tiniest micro expressions in a loved one’s face tend to fill me with anxiety - a superficially blank expression writ with unspoken troubles. I’m rarely wrong, but my keen awareness and concern about other peoples’ state of mind is something I’ve had to consciously learn to manage.

The intensity of a wild animal versus a dog is also apparent to me in the other challenges my partner graciously accepts about living with me. For one, I’m intensely high-energy, a restless, pacing creature. I run three and a half miles almost every morning just trying to burn off enough nervous energy to be able to relax for indoor downtime. The morning solitude also helps with my peculiar need for large amounts of space and alone time. When I’m with my people, they’re my whole focus, but I need to be regularly away from even those I love most. Maybe a wolf would be okay with nearly constant company, and a dog even moreso. But sometimes coyote time means going off by yourself. I intentionally seek a lifestyle that includes regular travel and solo work, which also helps immensely with the wanderlust and need for my own company. In my experience, many people struggle with spouses being absent, so I’m grateful mine recognizes this need and is supportive.

In the home, I can also be a bit of a jumpy wild thing. With only my partner present, my guard is let down a little - he seems to be the only person who can regularly sneak up on me! He’s learned not to touch me if I’m facing away and not expecting it, or pop around a doorway, simultaneously speaking and jumpscare me. We’ve both learned that some feral part of my brain feels frantic if cornered, so I don’t like to be blocked in if I’m in a small room or the corner of the counter. It’s amusing in one sense - that is, that these are almost identical rules to handling rules often taught to handlers of captive canids. But it’s also annoying and feels silly to be so neurotic we have to set guidelines like this. Still, my spouse is happy to comply and very thoughtful about trying to help. I suppose most couples have to work around things that are tough for one another.

For us, another hurdle is sensory difficulties. I can be very sensitive, particularly to sound and smell. Sometimes the world can feel overwhelming and make me want to bolt into the brush. All of these things can be frustrating, but if it bothers him, he doesn’t show it and is compassionate in helping me find solutions.

The hobbies of a scavenger could likewise be a barrier to a relationship. People know canines can be gross. But it takes a special kind of person to be relaxed about their partner and not just their pets bringing dead critters home, eating strange foods, or dumpster diving. I warned my partner about the squirrel I’d stashed in our freezer after scooping up the roadkill on a morning run, smuggling the stiff rodent home bagged up under my hoodie. He barely blinked. Another day in the life, I suppose?

I’m a lucky dog in that my mate not only celebrates all the weird feral quirks I have, but gives back so much of what a canine person would hope for - affection, play, attentiveness, and frank, honest communication. A canine wants a partnership, a teammate who both respects your independence and will support you, share in your joy, and help when you need it. I think canine people tend toward partners that are truly their best friends, and I will be forever fortunate to have that in my marriage. It’s the kind of love that multiplies all joy and more than halves all sorrow. He not only makes my tail wag, but knows and loves that it does.