Drifting Through Hyperspace

Barley, a dog, lies on her side as she is viewed from above, lying on an abstract blue-gray sheet struck through with chaotic white streaks.

Perhaps the most alien thing about a dog to a human is its aesthetic sensibility. There’s no sense that Barley has any opinion about this visually striking linen set, any more than a plain white sheet. It’s not clear that Barley would recognize an object as “artistic.” Her world is eminently practical: Food is good, and tasty food is best. Soft surfaces are nice, rough surfaces not so much. From a cynical perspective, this paints a picture of a life lived in a kind of aesthetic void, a world of wiremesh geometries, automatic scripts, and meters that need refilling.

And yet. She has joys as well: Being close, making eye contact, reunion with familiar people. Barley’s aesthetic sensibilities, it seems to me, are entirely social, and all the world’s beauty is found in the living. She doesn’t watch our movies: We are her movies. She doesn’t listen to our music: We are her music. We are beautiful.

You are beautiful. Just ask Barley.