Do dogs need blankets and jackets and comfort?
Scout is a majestic predator-scavenger descended from wild ancestors. She also likes to be cozy.
I once had someone criticize me for putting Scout in a jacket. Actually, she didn’t even know for sure that I had ever put Scout in a jacket. She used the assumption as an insult: “I bet you’re the kind of person who gives your dog coats and booties!” (The ew was heavily implied.)
I’m writing this post from a lightly wooded campsite. It’s just after eight am. The temperature has finally reached 50 degrees Fahrenheit after plummeting to nearly freezing last night. My feet are adorned with two pairs of wool socks; I’m wearing my favorite flannel over another bulky sweatshirt; my bright red-orange hat covers most of my hair. I have reheated my coffee mug three times.
And Scout is curled on the back bed, lying atop one fleece blanket while wrapped in another.
I thought about recording a silly video for Instagram. I’d start at the front of the van and walk towards my dog-in-donut-position, zooming in on her coziness, and then I’d add a voiceover saying something like “remember, folks: your dog is a wild animal who does not need any sort of comfort. Do you see wolves using blankets?!”
Instead, I took about a dozen still photos. I figured not everyone would get the joke.
Scout got sick in her crate a couple nights ago. This never happens, and it seems she surprised even herself—she did not wake us to go outside or even draw our attention to the mess until we’d started going about our regular day. By the time we noticed, her bedding was past the point of redemption (especially with the limited washing resources available to us living in a van). We threw it out.
“She has to sleep with us tonight,” I told Sean. “She can’t be stuck on that bare plastic1.”
He readily agreed. So did Scout: She resisted going inside her crate—usually a favorite safe, quiet space—until we made our way to a pet store and snagged a replacement mat.
I thought about how lucky she is to have a life with so much softness. About how lucky we are to have the resources to provide her with this life. About how many creatures—domesticated and feral and wild and blurring those boundaries in between—spend nearly every waking moment in search of comfort only to rarely achieve it.
A few days ago I finished rereading Poets Square: A Memoir in Thirty Cats by writer and TNR advocate Courtney Gustafson. (I say “reread” because this is the kind of book so good that when you reach the last page, you aren’t ready for it to be done—I read most essays more than once and still want more.) Gustafson talks about watching feral cats touch soft surfaces for the first time. Experience heated beds for the first time. Settle into some sense of coziness in this harsh world. They’d been surviving before she started providing these amenities—well, they at least appeared to be—but they weren’t thriving.
That’s how I feel about the small steps I take to help Scout feel comfier in our great big world. I’ve seen her hike sans jacket in below-freezing temperatures. I’ve seen her choose a horribly uneven, rocky spot for a nap right in the dirt. I’ve seen her bake in the sun to the point where I’m compelled to intervene lest she accidentally gives herself heatstroke. She clearly has a tolerance for physical discomfort (or a different threshold than I do for what constitutes “discomfort” in the first place).
She is tough. She is tougher than I give her credit for.
And yet: When I padded back to the bed to wrap that second blanket around her this morning, she melted into its touch. She immediately rested her chin against the warmth. She gave one of those huge, moaning sighs—Sean sometimes says she sounds like a piece of malfunctioning machinery—and closed her eyes and radiated contentment.
Perhaps “need” is intense. Scout would not perish if I hadn’t wrapped her in that extra layer. She does, indeed, have a natural coat that keeps her warmer than me without extra help.
But she certainly wanted it. She certainly loves it. She certainly feels more comfortable than she did before I arranged her cocoon just so.
TL;DR takeaways
Just because domestic dogs can tolerate a range of temperatures doesn’t mean it’s comfortable for them. Yes, our canines have fur. No, that doesn’t make them invincible.
This is particularly true when we bring our pets from one environment (like a heated home) into another (like a winter morning). That temperature shock can be a lot for anyone, regardless of species.
Different dogs thrive in different climates. Some have short hair (or almost no hair at all) and are at risk of hypothermia if they’re exposed to the elements for too long. Although a husky probably doesn’t need a jacket—my parents’ dog is thrilled to curl up outside even when it’s below freezing—many others do best with an extra layer of protection.
Our pets can also grow accustomed to their homes. When we lived in Wisconsin, Scout handled the cold reasonably well. After we spent three years in Florida? She became far more sensitive to the cold weather. (Me too, cattle dog.)
I know nature can be brutal. I know gratuitous anthropomorphism has real consequences. It is both art and science to embrace fellow creatures as they are without pinioning them into some satisfying-to-us human-made shape.
But I wouldn’t mind living in a world with more softness offered by default.
Related reading
The below post from three years ago (okay, where does the time go?!) was my initial response to the “dressing up our dogs is an insult” comment.
Other notes and news
Scout updates and personal tidbits
Aside from getting sick that one night, our cattle gal’s still mostly living the life out west. We’ve had some incredible campsites lately 🥹
We started up Wacky Training Wednesday again! For the uninitiated, this was an Instagram silly-series we began five years ago in the thick of Scout’s dog reactivity training. It was one of my favorite things about being on Dogstagram, and I wanted to embrace that joy anew.
Writing life
If you’ve been paying close attention, you may have noticed it’s been more than two weeks since I said “in two weeks” I get to announce the exciting project I’ve been working on for a while. Oops. This is not me trying to lie to you. (Promise!) Rather, for once in my life, I am trying to wait for the final pieces to fall into place so the announcement can be thorough. Soon. Soon!!
Today I’m attending a pitch lab with Juliane Bergmann and Amber Petty. I’ve had moderate success pitching in the last year (well, at least what I think is somewhat average for a notoriously laggy, ghost-y industry) but need to keep getting out of my comfort zone.
Also: I have a couple free subscriptions to give out to The Forever Workshop! If you’d like one, please just reply to this email. 😁
Reading
Since we moved into (and then out of) our short-term lease this summer, I have barely been reading actual books. The original idea was to stop getting so lost in other people’s words to do a better job writing my own. It sort of worked… but also left me feeling empty. (If I can’t immediately answer the question “what are you reading right now?” with enthusiasm, who am I??) I’m easing back in with better boundaries over when is “writing time” and when is “reading time”.
As mentioned in today’s essay, I recently reread Poets Square by Courtney Gustafson and am obsessed.
I am in the process of revisiting Good Grief by E.B. Bartels, too! Guess it’s reread season.
Caroline Beuley’s latest diary post about finding success as a writer hit me hard.
In case you missed it
Last week I waxed sentimental about a piece of rope and leather.
I feel compelled to insert some nuance here: Having our dogs sleep on a bare surface is not inherently unkind! We’ve had foster puppies who could not have anything soft in their crates for safety reasons. As always, every situation and dog is different.