“What are you eating?”

I didn’t expect Farrah to answer. She is our rescue dog, a mix between a corgi and a German shepherd. I tell that to people and get a mixture of reactions, from outright laughter to total looks of disbelief. She’s short and her butt is decidedly corgi with a stub for a tail. The body is long and the markings on her head are those of the shepherd. She runs circles around every dog she meets, loves riding in the car and patrols the yard to keep it free of squirrels and rabbits.

On Saturday afternoon she was engaged in chewing something and I doubted it was healthy. She looked up and I could tell my tone of voice had given her warning. She moved farther away and went back to crunching.

What if she had somehow gotten a chicken bone? That could be a problem if it splintered and lodged in her throat or stomach. What if it was the remains of a dead animal that could make her sick and have us spending the weekend at the vet? I figured I’d better get her to give up whatever she had found.

I advanced slowly. She saw me coming. Was this going to be a game of catch me if you can?

Seeing as I use a cane and she’s the fastest dog we’ve ever had, I knew catching her wasn’t a possibility.

I could try commands, but despite our persistent efforts to get her to come when called, she ignores us. Carol has found that clapping brings her running since that’s usually the signal that it’s time for dinner or she’s going to drive someplace. Another of Carol’s commands while seated on the couch is to tap the cushion beside her. Farrah accepts the gesture and hops up to lie down. She does not look for a reward and is content to have her tummy rubbed and ears stroked. The flicking of her tongue is a true sign of contentment.

We’ve never wanted a lap dog, but now that we have one that lives on her own terms, it’s not bad.

There’s one verbal command that Farrah obeys, “sit.” She came to us knowing it, although she didn’t know her name and, given the lack of response when called, has yet to learn that.

She stood ready for me to give chase. I figured this wasn’t the time to play games. In a stern voice I directed “sit!” She gave me a pained look that said “OK, but I really don’t want to sit.”

Now she was within reach and chewing rapidly with an audible clicking. She knew I wanted whatever she had and she planned to swallow it before I could get it. Fortunately, it was just too big.

It was white with flecks of red.

Farrah let it drop and I picked up a heavy crab shell.

Farrah looked at me as if to say, “bet you’re surprised.”

We don’t need words to communicate with our canine companions. A few taps on the couch, clapping when it’s time to get in the car and “sit” is enough. The rest is in the tone of voice and action. Throw a ball and Farrah knows it’s time to play.

As to where they find things like a crab shell and something smelly to roll in, I can only guess.