The Affinity Bridge

Title:The Affinity Bridge

Author(s): George Mann

Publisher(s): Tor Books

Pages: 336

Year: 2009

Format: EPUB

Language: English

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I got out of bed carefully so as not to disturb my still slumbering sweetie, took care of a few things in the bathroom, went downstairs and did some stretching and a few calisthenics. Then Frankie and I went out to the kennel, where I roused the twelve doggies who were spending the Fourth with us. (There were eleven actually, but with Hooch, it made twelve.) They all got up, stretched, then shook themselves when they saw us.

There was Otis the vizsla (his owner, Kate Hughes, named him after her old friend Otis Barnes), Scarlet the L?wchen (the breed sort of looks like a silvery Maltese), Cassie the miniature schnauzer, Satchmo (Dorianne Elliot’s German shepherd), Susie Q (an actual Maltese), Saki the black and white Akita, Coco (a chocolate lab/pit bull mix), Scout (another chocolate lab mix), Jackpot (a Jack Russell terrier), Bia (a tiny shi-tzu), Amanda (a West Highland white terrier), and of course, Hooch, my Dogue de Bordeaux. They all began yipping and barking happily. “Let us out! Let us out!”

They were old hands at the daily routine so I didn’t bother putting any of their leashes on, I just draped all twelve around my neck, opened the doors to their individual kennels, each one decorated with some sort of Maine motif—lobsters and sailboats and pine trees and moose and the like—and the dogs immediately ran to the front door. I knew that once I opened it, they would head straight for the play yard, a grassy, fenced-in spot (roughly the size of the infield at Fenway Park), just down the hill from the kennel.

And that’s exactly what they did. By the time I got to the gate they were already there ahead of me, running around in circles, or pawing at the chain-link, or barking, or doing all three. I unlatched the gate and held it open for them and they all rushed inside. Some began sniffing around for a place to pee or poop. Others began playing right away.

After they’d gotten their elimination needs out of the way they paired up, each one choosing a favorite play partner: there was Amanda and Scarlet, Cassie and Bia, Satch and Scout, Otis and Frankie, Jackpot and Coco, Saki and Hooch, which left little Susie Q to frantically run from group to group before settling in with Scarlet and Amanda, surreptitiously biting each one on the ass whenever either one of them had their backs turned, the little rascal.

It was a glorious morning—cool and clear with no humidity and few mosquitoes out yet to pester anybody: just thirteen rough-and-tumble doggies, enjoying the hell out of each other, and me enjoying the hell out of watching them play.

I also entertained myself by trying to figure out which one in the group was the alpha dog. I don’t think there is any such thing, of course; at least not in the mind of a dog, and in my view, not in the mind of anyone with any sense.

For instance, that morning the only dog who seemed intent on being the boss was Cassie, the miniature schnauzer, who at one point even barked Hooch into a corner! Yet she was the least alphalike of all the dogs there; she’s just anxious and a little spoiled. But, as anyone who lives in a multiple dog household knows, it’s usually a small, spoiled female (like Cassie) who runs things, not a big “alpha male” like Hooch.

As I was thinking this over, another idea was scratching at my brain, wanting to be let in. It seemed to be saying something about dogs and lasers, which made no sense. Then I thought of Kelso’s theory that a murder case is like a Zen hologram—that everything’s connected on some level. Maybe my brain was trying to tell me something.

Then I realized that Gordon Beeson, our victim, worked for Ian Maxwell, who was designing a new kind of laser for use in brain surgery. Maybe lasers really did have something to do with the case. But how did that relate to my ruminations on dogs? Are dogs like lasers? It seemed unlikely. But if so, how? I mean, since I don’t believe that canines understand concepts like rank, status, and who is or isn’t alpha—even though, to all outward appearances, they seem to—what do they understand?

I suddenly realized that what canines really understand is how to align their individual needs with the needs of the pack as a whole. It’s that simple. And when they do this—particularly when hunting—the results are amazing. They become galvanized emotionally the same way that photons in a laser are galvanized physically.

This is phase transition, a defining feature of an emergent system. During this transformation, a dramatic shift takes place in the underlying structure of a system (in this case, the pack), realigning it in the same way that the light in a laser is reconfigured from scattered waves into coherent light. There is still no pack leader, though, because in a self-emergent system—which is what the pack is—the system itself is always the leader.

This is why Frankie and all the other dogs I’ve trained listen and obey me. Not because they recognize my rank or status (a dog’s thought process is too visceral and concrete for such abstractions), but because I know how to galvanize their emotions and put them in phase with me. It’s probably the same with most really good dog trainers, though they’re probably unaware of it.

I remembered reading somewhere that over half of all American dogs who go to a trainer, a puppy class, or a behaviorist end up not being trained, and some end up worse off than they were before. Over half of all our dogs! If pet dog trainers would learn to train dogs the way search-and-rescue dogs are trained—using their prey drive, instead of using constant food rewards or the threat of punishment—we wouldn’t be having this problem. All our dogs would be totally happy, perfectly trained, and well-behaved. It’s a shame that more people don’t know this.

After an hour of such deliberations I called my beautiful little charges to me and was about to hook them up to their leashes but stopped and did something silly. I got down on my hands and knees and growled at them and did a play bow, the way dogs do, then rolled over on my back and cried, “Oh, no! You got me! You’re the king doggies!”

They immediately jumped on top of me, all thirteen of them (except Hooch, who didn’t quite know what to do with himself—he’s so cumbersome). They leapt around and barked and nipped happily and excitedly at my beard and my hands and my clothes.

“Oh, you’re the alpha dogs!” I cried as they piled on top of me. “You’re killing me! You’re killing me!” (This is what a papa wolf does with his pups, by the way—only without the talking part.) They loved this game! And even though they were all nipping at me, and I wouldn’t recommend that just anyone try it, it was just harmless play and didn’t hurt. In fact, their little love bites felt quite bracing and delicious in a wild and primal sort of way.

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