"Do dogs have feelings?" ask the uninitiated. The answer is so obvious to us dog people. Duh. Just watch their little faces and see yearning, delight, annoyance, frustration, concentration, jealousy, celebration, worry, and adoration pass over them like clouds on a windy day. They are sentient beings at once so logical ("It is gross; ergo I must roll in it, then eat it.") and maddeningly irrational ("I hate baths; however I do enjoy a good soak in filthy ditch water.") They are not so different from 4-year-old children, just better behaved and quieter. So of course they have sudden and deep feelings—both love and aversion—for us humans and for other dogs.
Muzzy is a perfect case in point. She loves Tony but loathes a Basenji named Teddy. Why? Who knows. He just gets to her. She also gets tough with Dog Park newbies. (So embarrassing. "Welcome to the Park. Sorry my dog is such a bitch.") Yet, when our neighbor's dog, Sophie, tries to tear Muzzy a new one, she looks at me with an expression that says, "What did I ever do to her?" And when Paco, the three-legged dog, comes looking for a Muzzy-flavored chew toy, Muzz heads for the car. She's obviously not stupid, just not in control of her emotions or her vibe. And hooray for her. I wish I could be as at ease with my own dorkiness and unrequited passions. Perhaps with enough study at the paws of the Muzz master, I will. What is the sound of one tail wagging?