Planet: College

(David Attenborough narrates)

Ahh, but elsewhere, it is the first day of spring classes here in Colorado, home to one of the largest non-resident populations of students anywhere in the world. The temperatures are brutally cold, hovering at around zero Farenheit, and well-insulated students shuffle around on foot, or by car or even bicycle, to make it to their morning classes. Many will not have woken up from their hibernation yet, and will miss this morning's ritual.

In an upper-level science class, a small group of students gathers, tucked into a windowless corner far from the judgmental eyes of business majors and liberal arts students. A predominantly male group, the friendly males sit together and joyously recount tales from their individual hibernations, some of which required migrations of thousands of miles to their home caves. It is a ritual repeated year in and year out. Communicating primarily via grunts and phallic insinuations, they discuss meeting up later in the week for a fermented beverage popular with this species.

A building away, however, the tone is much different. This class is a mix of many different students, most of whom are not on familiar terms. The ones who have previously made each other's acquaintance may sit and share a few words, or just cautiously eye one another. Males of the species, many of them hungover and not yet fully awake from their month-long slumber, attempt to claim as much space as possible. Inevitably, however, the spots between them are filled. This is a full class, indeed.

As the classroom begins to fill up, an interesting phenomenon occurs: the males, suddenly aware of the presence of females, begin to evaluate the quality and number of mates in the class. At the same time, they are sizing up the threat that other males may pose. A few that may be of concern are noted for later, to be befriended or shunned, as the case may be. Some of the more alert males strike up a conversation with a potential mate. Others, however, communicate with each other in a series of grunts and groans as they begin to hear a lecture from a related subspecies, the Graduate Student. One can almost understand the males as they grumble to one another, as if to say "fuck this," or "heard that." Most just sip warm coffee from a sort of insulated traveling beverage container, hoping to fully shake off the residue of hibernation.

Across campus, an interesting subspecies of student, the Student Veteran, has a unique ability to recognize members of its own group, though they are often indistinguishable to casual observation from the outside. This group is almost exclusively male. Upon realization of the presence of another, the two or more student veterans will almost invariably sit together and beginning sharing information with their own unique and often incomprehensible dialect. The same sounds will be heard repeated by each member of the new group, beginning a curiously strong bond that will last at least through the end of the semester.

(cuts to commercial)

A brief note about the Doberman

As far as I can tell and read, the Doberman is one of about... five to ten "real" breeds specifically created for the protection of their human - and, as far as I can tell, the best at it. These Germans are on to something.

Bred to be fearless mountain dogs that roamed either as a pack or by themselves (plus human), they excel at both things; that is to say, mountain dogging and protecting. For instance, my Hans, who has another fantastic quality bred into him by Ze Americans - as we would say in this age of the internet, and meme-speak - what's known as "chill."

He fucking sleeps. There is no way around that. Like a motherfucking cat. An often smelly, softly noisy, 105lb cat.

BUT!

Get him in the woods. He's up, he's ready, he'll run ten fucking miles for every three of yours, and if you want, he'll come back with you long after your heels are blistered and crying and his paws leave red tracks in the snow. He does not, simply, give a fuck. (side note: part of this is that Dobermans are credited with having the highest pain tolerance of any pure breed. to a fault, at times.)

On the creek (my creek!), human[s] with gun in hand, he is at a heel, silent, nose in the air, pointing. A true game dog. He simply "gets it" to the point that he now accompanies me, at his age of 3, on my elk hunting trips.

More important. He is awake, alert, at the door, when he knows I'm off guard. Hans has gotten quite sharp at detecting that - if he thinks I'm on my game (which I usually am not, to be honest), he'll welcome anyone in with some squeaks and his wiggling lack of a tail.

However, when he thinks I am not, or when we're on unfamiliar or unfriendly ground (i.e. the boonies) he gives one bark when something is off, and when shit goes off, he is all teeth, all ferocity, and no fucking chill. I've even had to calm him down, and with some hesitation on my part. That's a lot of fucking teeth. But even at his scariest, all I have to give him is a "Hans! Heel!" and he is there, alert, but pettable. (pettable is apparently not a word. fuck it.)

He is my best friend. Sorry, other second-best friends, but y'all are humans.

Goodnight, everyone else.