I’m a science believer when we try to understand what it means when a dog looks us in the eyes.

Dogs are the most successful survivors in the animal world. Few animals are treated the way they are – expensive food, expensive medical care, expensive to buy and maintain.

They use their eyes for a lot more than being cute.

I love thinking about dogs and how they communicate with us.

Most people believe they understand what we are saying, most people believe a look like Bud was giving me this morning is a declaration of love.

More and more people love their dogs so much – and think it’s the human kind of love –  that they are certain that dogs are like us, think like us, feel like us.

And most of all, they love their dogs like children and humans. (Not good for humans, children, or dogs.)

People tell me things about dogs that were almost never said before American capitalists realized there was so much money people would spend on dogs they love, and dogs they are sure love them just as much.

I don’t believe most of what people believe about dogs is true. Dogs are the most calculating and instinctively brilliant dogs in the world.

What is Bud really thinking when he looks at me like that? The truth? Nothing. Dogs act out or reflect a generic history; they don’t have our language or know most of it, and they couldn’t possibly be thinking what we are led to believe.

Bud knows just how to play me. When he comes up and looks at me with those eyes, he touches my heart and my soul.

Most of the time, I will lean down and scratch and rub his neck, which he loves. If I’m busy, he goes to give Maria a look, who loves Bud very much, and gets rewarded with attention or a treat.

If I’m busy, he yawns and walks away and goes to sleep. No hard feelings.

When dogs look other dogs in the eye, it often means they want to fight. When they look humans in the eye, they know there is a good chance of getting something back. That’s why they live in beds and have human names, and squirrels and raccoons and foxes don’t.

When we see that dog looking into our eyes, we instantly translate it into love; that’s the human idea. Dogs, who are, I think, often smarter than we are, are thinking something else.

Food, shelter, attention, recreation, and a walk outside. They love the people who give that to them, and so we love them back, times ten.

Hundreds of studies have shown that dogs who are rehomed due to blood or disasters take about two months to adapt and forget all about the humans they lived with. No dog – there were thousands – rehomed out of New Orleans during the collapse of the dikes – were known to perish out of sadness or wanted to go home.

The same with countless rescue dogs who can’t wait to love wherever they go.

Just about every dog was fine once they realized they would be fed and maybe walked or scratched. Dogs love everyone who feeds them.

I have a wall full of studies of canine behavior. I’m the only person I know who believes them. Mostly, we get the dogs we need, and they quickly figure that out. That is their true genius. The dog students are pissing in the wind.

Nobody really seems to want the truth of it.

Almost everyone says the same thing about what it means when dogs stare at us. Most people don’t like what the scientists say or don’t want to admit it.

The dog’s emotionalization and portrayal as a loving child who adores them is much more comforting.

Here is what I believe is the truth, and what every serious student of dogs believes. It’s also what most dog lovers don’t want to accept as the truth.

That’s why they spend tens of thousands of dollars on their health care and astonishingly expensive surgeries for the first time in the history of dogs.

What I believe: Dogs stare at you primarily to communicate needs or wants: to express affection, read our emotions, and watch our body language and tone of voice, so they can predict our next move – where am I are going,  when will I feed them, and what  might I be doing with them.

This behavior most often stems from a desire for food, attention, walks, or to bond with us in a way that dogs are genetically trained to do with humans. They love to hang out with friends.

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We are their survival, evolution, food, and affection. That’s a lot, and it’s enough for me. I don’t need to turn them into furbabies and the loves of my life. I prefer people for that.

Dogs will not live as long as we do, and they cannot do for us what human beings can do, even when people tell us that their dogs are the most important things in their lives.

I don’t mourn them when they die; I think of them with gratitude and get another dog to love.

Death is their business, not mine.

The instinctive love of a dog for me is enough. I don’t need it to be more.

When Bud came over and gave me this pleasing look, he knew just what he was doing. It’s what I taught him, it’s what he taught me. It’s what he knows from birth.

My heart melts a bit when he looks at me that way, and I give him a scratch in his favorite spot. Then he followed me into the kitchen, stood in front of the treat box, and gave me that look again. Once or twice a day, it works.

I gave him a small and healthy treat. Dogs don’t really care about the size.

I laughed and reminded myself that if I dropped dead and Bud ended up somewhere else, after a day or two, he’d give them the same look, turn on the great charm, and figure out how to get something back in a flash.

He’d be fine. All the transplanted dogs are, unless they have been damaged in some way or trapped in crates for years, and “saved.”

That’s the beauty of dogs for me. I don’t need to make them something else.

How do I know what Bud is doing when he stares at me? It’s what he did when he came off the rescue truck.

After two days of getting to know each other and of feeding him, we were close friends. He knows how to handle humans. That’s why he looks at me in that way.

Dogs cannot be satisfied. They want more. In our world, they are increasing every day.

It’s usually not about what they need. It’s about what we need.