#82 PUPPY: FEET — Pine Word Works

“I’m captured, Scooter, by how great feet are. Each is independent of the other, but they work together so beautifully. Like . . .”

“You’re about to say, ‘Like a great friendship,” said Scooter, checking scent in the air. “There’s been a bear in the retention pond, Mom. Recently.”

“Scooter, just think. Two comparatively small platforms at the bottom of a person can hold up for years supporting up to several hundred pounds. They can stave off disasters by sudden cooperative moves. Big toes can replace thumbs; feet even replace hands for writing, driving, cooking, and stuff. Human feet are amazing. I watched a video of an armless Belgium woman, Sarah Talbi, cutting up a red pepper with a sharp knife, with her toes. She’s an artist! She does everything, even dressing her young daughter. Feet, Scooter.”

“Is this one of those ‘You’re on a roll’ things?” he interjected. I was.

“Did you know that the human foot has 26 bones, 33 joints, more than 100 tendons and ligaments, thousands of nerve endings in the soles, and a hundred-plus sweat glands that can produce up to half a pint of moisture in a day?”

“You looked up that stuff, didn’t you,” he said.

“And the arch?” I said, paying him no attention.

“It’s a brown bear,” said Scooter, nose high in the air, and a guttural rumble low in his throat.

“The arch,” I said, refusing to yield, “is a shock absorber that makes it possible for the foot to bear up to four or five times a person’s body weight. Don’t get me started on the Achille’s tendon.

“Guaranteed,” he said, pulling us away from the wooded wetlands and the retention pond where he knows coyotes come to drink.

“You wrote about my feet, Mom, in Puppy blog #61. Do you remember how remarkable my feet are?”

“Any dog’s feet?” I asked.

“Here’s the thing,” he said. “First, I have four of them. Because humans have only two, they get serious lower back pain. The lower back carries all a human’s weight, and about human body weight, as you say, ‘Let’s not get started.’ A University of Aberdeen study says people with persistent lower back pain have spine shapes that resemble ape ancestors.”

“Mom, even apes know the benefit of letting their arms and hands assist in walking. Most mammals walk the way they should—on all fours. Only, not kangaroos, but, you know, kangaroos have very small brains.”

“And you walk on your toes. Ah, Scooter, I’m sorry. You do have beautiful feet.”

“Four,” he said. “Each with six pads full of merocrine sweat glands that release heat and moist prints.”

“Merocrine? Someone had to tell you that.”

“Lilly told me.”

“The Jack Russell?”

Lilly’s dad is a molecular epidemiologist, or something like that. She throws around his big words.

“People don’t sense my print, but other dogs do, and I’ll bet that bear does. And remember, each of my many pads and dewclaws has purpose. My carpal pad isn’t called ‘stopper pad’ for nothing. When you and I go down a steep, gravely path, and you grab for bush branches? My carpal pads are brakes. That’s why you don’t see me slipping.” But you’ve already written about that.

“Can you cross your feet?” I asked. I was trying hard to remember the wonders of human feet.

“You’ve seen it, Mom. My front ones, yes, but not my hind feet. Wait!” he said. “When I sleep on my side, one hind foot sort of crosses the other. So, sure. But not intentionally. Does that count? My back legs, remember, are not loose like my front legs. They’re intentionally rigid, tight, all muscle. Sensational leaping legs..”

He wasn’t finished.

“Think about this,” he said. “You guys protect all that nervy tissue under your soft soles with shoes. I have tough but sensitive pads with specialized fatty tissue for insulation. Unless it’s really, really, cold, or hot, I’m a barefoot boy..” Then he added, “We haven’t talked about toenails.”

“You on a roll, Scooter?”

“My curved nails are purposefully shaped to dig into dirt or grass, or mud, to give me traction. I love mud! Humans buy special shoes for traction, and they don’t like muddy shoes. See what you miss?”

“Are we in a One Upmanship conversation?” I asked.

“Should I mention the amazing scent glands between my toes?” he asked while searching for a garter snake. “Want to know how I know Toby walked near this tall grass about four hours ago? Feet, Mom. Four of them. Toby’s feet secreted pheromones as he walked, and I’m picking up his scent. You’ve already written a blog about my amazing nose. Shall we talk about what’s between your toes other than sock lint?”

“Scooter, want to go home and cuddle?”

“Let’s cuddle.”