Remembrance of Things Past

I often wonder if Lola ever takes a stroll down memory lane, chasing yesterday's squirrel into the bushes of times gone by, barking at recollections of ancient mailmen delivering yet more sepia-tinted synapses. I can certainly imagine her waxing nostalgic for long gone lamposts and fire hydrants she once peed upon; keeping sentimental scrapbooks of favorite bones and long lost rawhide chews; placing faded pictures of her parents beside her little dog basket, assuming she has any idea who her parents were. She might even compile elaborate family trees with roots reaching back to disappointingly unglamorous mongrel ancestors from the nether regions of European backwaters, were she able to register for one of those genealogical websites that are so popular these days. And it might seem somewhat egotistical on my part, but I like to think she'd never forget on what day my birthday falls.

But does Lola possess a memory scent strong enough to follow down memory lane? It seems unlikely. She can't even remember a command stop barking given ten seconds ago. But, of course, dogs and humans co-exist in a slide-rule relationship with time: dogs supposedly living seven years for every human year, so my seconds-old command to stop barking probably already seems like last week to Lola, consequently I shouldn't be surprised she's forgotten to obey. Indeed, if I want to stop Lola barking I should probably order her to stop at least three days before I think she's going to start so that our command timelines coincide. I suggested this method of dog training to TV's The Dog Whisperer but his people failed to get back to me.