#82 PUPPY: FEET

“I’m captured, Scooter, by what my feet can do. 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. These two comparatively small platforms at the bottom of a human can hold up for years supporting up to several hundred pounds. They can stave off disasters by sudden cooperative moves. A big toe can be used to replace a thumb; and feet can even replace hands for writing, driving, cooking, and stuff. Human feet are amazing. I watched a video of this Belgium woman, Sarah Talbi, who was born without arms. She was cutting up a red pepper with her toes, she is an artist, yeah with her feet. 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 roll 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 a dog’s foot is?

“Here’s the thing,” he said. “First, I have four feet. Because you humans only have two, you have serious lower back pain. Your lower back carries all your body’s weight, and about human body weight, as you said, ‘let’s not get started.’

He reminded me of a study I read from the University of Aberdeen that suggests that 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. Nearly all mammals walk the way they should—on all fours. Only, not kangaroos. They hop on hind legs but, you know, kangaroos have very small brains. I don’t know if they suffer back pain.”

“Yeah, well, you’re stuck with walking on your toes. I’m not.” Then I felt rotten for having sought a split second of superiority by being a heel user. “Scooter, I’m sorry. You have beautiful feet.”

“Four,” he said. “No sweaty soles, but on each of my feet I have six pads with merocrine sweat glands that release heat and moist prints.

“Someone had to tell you that. What’s merocrine?”

“Lilly told me.”

“The Jack Russell?”

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

“You humans don’t notice my print, but other dogs do, and I’ll bet that bear does. And remember, each pad and each dewclaw serves a serious purpose. My carpal pad isn’t called ‘stopper pad’ for nothing. When you and I go down a steep path, and you grab for bush branches? My carpal pads are a brake. That’s why you don’t see me slipping.” But you’ve already written about that.

SCOOTER SUBLIME WITH PAWS AT REST

 “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 does cross over the other some. So, sure. But not intentionally. My back legs, remember, are not loose like my front legs. The back ones are intentionally rigid, tight, all muscle. You can’t know the benefit of bounding off those hind legs; it’s sensational.”

VERY NEARLY, THE HIND FEET ARE CROSSED.

 He wasn’t finished.

“Think about this,” he said. “You use shoes to protect all that nervy tissue under your tender soles. 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. You can wear the boots. I don’t need them.” Then he added, “Oh! We haven’t talked about toenails.”

“You on a roll, Scooter?”

“Your toenails need frequent cutting. If I get proper outings, mine seldom do. However, my curved nails are perfectly shaped to dig into dirt or grass, or mud to give me traction. I love mud. People seem to need special shoes for traction, and they don’t like getting shoes muddy. See what you miss?”

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

“Should I mention the amazing scent glands between my toes? Want to know how I know Toby walked next to 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 of other than sock lint?”

“Scooter. Want to cuddle?”

“Let’s cuddle.”

Barb & Scooter

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