Can Dogs Smile?
Dogs are magic. If you’re reading this, you already agree, so I won’t spend time on it.
They’re different from every other animal. The love people have for their dogs is a strange and enormous thing. When you actually stop and think about it, it’s kind of amazing. We just love these animals like crazy. They’re like little angels.
And the thing I love most about a dog is the tail.
Think about how we read each other. Body language, sure. Posture, hands, the way somebody walks into a room. But mostly we read faces. Mostly we read the smile. Culturally, it’s everything. I’ve been photographing people for thirty years, and most of the job comes down to one word. Smile. That’s the goal. That’s the whole thing.
A dog can’t do that. Neither can any other animal, as far as I know.
Instead, they have a tail - a small gauge mounted on the back of a dog that tells you exactly how it’s feeling. That’s insane to me. Nothing else walks around broadcasting its mood on a stick.
Some dogs are tail waggers - kind of like people who are always smiling. Lewie’s tail always wags. It wags when he’s truly happy. If I tell him, “That’s my good boy,” it wags. If I tell him, “We’re going to the beach later,” it wags. If it’s almost dinner, cue the tail! Dinner is on the way. It’s a reaction. It’s feedback. It’s a conversation between us. It's his smile.
Some of you know our other dog, Moses. He’s an old-timer now—an elderly giant-breed dog with arthritis. He mostly lives in our sunroom, where he can see out the window and guard the place. That’s his work area and his comfort zone. Younger Mo used to come sit in the living room with the rest of us. Not so much anymore.
Last night, Amy and I, our two kids, who are young adults now, and Lewie were watching TV (yes, Lewie watches TV!). And Mo came into the room.
He usually only comes in because he’s scared - like when he’s heard fireworks somewhere in the distance and is seeking shelter under our coffee table (which we call his turtle shell). But last night, Mo just walked into the room to be with us for no reason that I could see or hear.
And Lewie’s tail started going. Back and forth. He was just happy Mo was there. And it struck me that when we tell Moses he’s a good boy, Lewie’s tail wags. The same thing happens if I get up and go over to pet Mo. Lewie’s tail starts up. And it isn’t involuntary or just the tone of my voice. If I go squat down next to a stuffed animal and pet it, nothing happens. The tail doesn’t wag.
It seems he’s genuinely happy for Moses.
We don’t usually give dogs credit for emotions like that. For being glad about something that has nothing to do with them. But there it is, going back and forth on the living room floor every time.
Maybe dogs can’t smile.
But they have a tail.
And I think that might be better.