Dogs just don’t get the action of finger pointing. I’m standing there, in a public space, with finger extended, “what’s that?! That. There, Froy*. No. There!!”
Sure, it’s higher order cognition but what I don’t understand is why it takes me so long to give up. He’s snuffling around, looking up at me through shaggy fur-covered eyes, humouring me by pretending to look around – but never in the right direction.
“Where’s your ball?! It’s there! Look where I’m pointing…” He looks at my other hand, my feet, the passing car. The ball sits idle. I can go on like this for quite a while. Changing the emphasis. Waggling my finger a little to accentuate my indicator. I take pride in being a patient person. Patience is definitely a virtue. But perhaps patience is a virtue with limited logic and no shame.
* Froy: Ben’s non-responsive nic name, a combination of Fluffy and [Good] Boy with an ‘r’ because he’s a dog and dogs speak in ‘r’ noises. I’m more likely to call him this when being supportive. He’s a labradoodle.