The Sopranos

What is it about meeting a puppy that makes people who usually speak in normal and reasonable tones suddenly begin to squeal and squeak?  What is it that makes people interacting with a small, young dog head for the highest reaches of their vocal register – and even beyond, into falsetto?

I’ve observed this many times over the last couple of months, with friends and strangers alike, young and old, gay and straight.  It’s such a common, almost universal, reaction that it must be the product of evolution: somewhere along the trail we became hard-wired to elevate our pitch when addressing a dog, and the dog, in response to the sounds and the attention (maybe with some ear scratching or belly rubbing), wags and wriggles and leaps with excitement.

“Who’s a good boy?  Who is it?  Where is he?  Oh, where’s a good boy?  Ooooh!  There he is!  There he is!  Yes, yes yes!  There he is!  Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

The longer this squeaking goes one, the more excited the dog becomes, turning in circles, leaping, running, barking, maybe even losing control of its bladder.

I’m as prone to this response as anyone else, and it’s easy to get a dog all wound up, to make him lose his mind and start running from room to room, skidding and leaping on and off the furniture and making the throw rugs spin.  It’s entertaining, but I wonder: is this really fun for the dog?