Every so often Beanie and Biggles do things that challenge my ideas about how smart (or dumb) they really are. Just recently they’ve nudged me in the “they’re smarter than  I thought” direction, because they’ve been misuing established signals to get their wicked little ways.

Like most Beagle girls, Beanie appreciates having plenty of room to herself in the humie bed on a morning. In the past she’s been able to secure this space by digging her claws into inconveniently-placed humie body parts, but lately the humies have shown an increased tolerance for Beagle acupressure. As a workaround she’s switched tactics and is now using (abusing) the long established pitter-patter signal to get the personal space she craves. Only people who have hard floor surfaces will likely know what I mean when I refer to “pitter-patter” – it’s the sound made when a little Beagle does the potty dance on laminate flooring to indicate a pressing need for the outside loo. It sounds quiet and subtle, but in practice those nails alternately tapping on wood is impossible to ignore; like a dripping tap it breaks through sleep, conversation, and even the deepest levels of concentration. More to the point, it’s enough to make a humie get out of bed, turn off the alarm and open the door to the garden. While this is happening, the smart Beagle can use her superior agility and speed to run round the humie, sprint back to the bedroom and claim a disproportionately large chunk of bed real-estate. To me, this is the kind of problem-solving I’ve had to employ far too often during my work as a software engineer; when Microsoft doesn’t give you the tools you need to accomplish a task directly, you find ways to use/abuse the tools you do have to get the desired effect.

Similarly Biggles has also adapted his “I need the loo” signals to get other things. He has two signalling methods, the first and most common being pawing of the metal baby gate at the entrance to the kitchen. In recent weeks he’s been using the paw-the-gate signal not for loo visits, but to draw attention to his latest sock acquisitions. In Biggles’ world, socks are the only hard currency; they can be exchanged for goods and services (OK mainly goods – specifically biccies) and when scampering into the living room with a sock flapping in your gob doesn’t get the desired result, well, you have to find another way. And so he has.

The second signal is a woof. I know what you’re thinking – there’s nothing special here; all dogs will woof to get something – but I’m talking about a very particular woof. It’s a single vocalization – a word not a phrase – and has a certain urgency in its delivery that leaves you in no doubt about the meaning: “Get me to a patch of grass now unless you like it messy and wet!”. I first heard it on a long car journey and trust me, no dog-to-English translation was necessary. Until recently it had been reserved solely for emergency pee situations, but now it’s being used get emergency access to the warm humie bed. The woof is issued, the crate opens, and while I open the way to the back door, he leaps into bed for a snuggle. It’s a bit naughty, but hey, it works.