I can’t remember whether I told you about my beauty parlor.

My memory’s weak – my explicit memory, that is. I can’t remember what I did yesterday. I could never memorize the alphabet. Who needs alphabets, anyway? (I’m assuming, if you’re reading this, you’re human.) We dogs get along fine without them. Less brain-clutter assists concentration on essentials. Dogs seldom do stupid things, even stupid dogs (and yes, we have our stupids – don’t get me started). Humans, Carll winces, do stupid things all the time; the smarter the human, the stupider their screw-ups. Puzzling, no?

Weak explicit memory leaves more mind-space for our instinctual memory, which is A plus plus. We dogs figure what’s happening faster than you can say flibbertigibbet. (I don’t know what flibbertigibbet means. I just asked CAI – Canine Artificial Intelligence – to insert a long silly fussy word that folks have heard but can’t quite define and that’s what they came up with. If you can define flibbertigibbet, feel free to skip this digression when you reread this missive, which you’ll want to.)

Instinctive memory sesses out patterns faster than – enough of that – and modifies behavior accordingly. It took days for me to detect Jane’s and Carll’s distaste for indoor defecation, for example. How long does it take humans? I know when it’s lunch or dinner before Jane and Carll do, because that’s when I get a snack in my crate and the TV blabs. I sleep when they do because why not, it’s dark, no one to play with, and you’ve got to sleep sometime. Canine pattern-recognition delights humans because they mistake it for approbation. Who said, “Imitation is the highest form of flattery?” Trick question – you probably knew – Oscar Wilde. The full quote reads, “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery that mediocrity can pay to greatness.” Funny guy, that Wilde.

Thanks to my A-plus-plus instinctive memory, I can tell when Carll’s getting ready for our walk. He lifts his sweatpants and puffy jacket from the closet, then pats his pockets to make sure he’s got his car keys and phone and ear-speakers so he can listen to Dickens as we walk. He’s been listening to Dickens as long as I’ve been alive (almost a year now). Are there other writers? I love our walks, in part because I’m youthful and vigorous, and in part because Carll rewards me with treats for doing what I’d do anyway. Pee – treat. Poop – treat. Come – treat. Fetch – treat. I mean, how dumb can you get! The theory here comes from B.F. Skinner, I think, who got the idea from Pavlov and his famous dog. (Famous dogs make my hair bristle – rivals for posthumous regard.) Constant reinforcement of desired behavior makes that behavior instinctive – i.e., brainwashing. Brainwashing has a bad rep but I’m all for it if the prod is treats.

We dogs, then, with our keen instinctive memory, know what’s up faster than you can say (I can’t stop myself!) – which amazes and pleases humans – which results in more treats. And one of the things that’s up – monthly, Carll tells me, whatever a month is – is my visit to the beauty parlor. (Some say, salon – CAI paused at this junction to query – parlor or salon? Is there a difference? Is one sniffier? Have I chosen right?). To shell out seventy-eight dollars a month to doll up a dog raises all sorts of questions – prudential, ethical, existential – not to mention the five hours our expedition consumes soup to nuts (a human denominator, apparently). These questions merit discussion – only, guess what, we’re out of space, six hundred words, another pattern!