Possession is 99 One Hundredths of the Dog Law

Imagine no possessions.

When contemplating my dog’s fraught relation with property, I can see the appeal of Lennonism. She is always happy-go-lucky, except when she has a possession. Meat, of course, but the weirder thing is how coming into ownership of a minor amenity of canine comfort instantly turns her into a growling nervous wreck, terrified that the normally beloved family member who two seconds before covered her with a blanket to stay warm or gently slipped a pillow for her comfort under her head is now her sworn enemy plotting to take that very same possession away from her. (And yet just about any possession that falls under the categories of “toy” and “ball” she’d be delighted to share with you.)

It’s not like she tries to steal a blanket or a pillow from us. She pays no attention to them until we give them to her, at which point defending them from us becomes her highest priority in life.

Another aspect is territorial possession. When a dog walks by on the sidewalk, she of course goes nuts barking to scare away an intruder. But it’s not just who-whom thinking. Put her out on the sidewalk as a dog barks at her from inside a house and she never ever barks back or even much looks at the dog. Her body language says, “Yes, sir, Mr. Dog in the House, I am moving right along, sir, I’ll be gone from your domain in an instant.”

The dog concept of property rights seems to be like the human one — possession is nine-tents of the law — only more so.