My dog, Cookie, is a high-energy papillon-mix with big furry ears and tufts of long fur, and when I first adopted her I almost returned her because for the first three days she wouldn’t stop crying.
Now, of course, she is my baby.
One thing that helped a lot with her energy levels and her constant boredom was the buttons. I’m sure you’ve seen them—those buttons you record with your voice that dogs can press to say things like FOOD or PLAY or OUTSIDE. Some people even train their cats with them.
Cookie is up to twenty buttons.
Sometimes she’ll hit nonsense sequences, of course. And she seems to think OUCH is a reaction to surprise. Also, I’m not sure if she grasps the emotions MAD, SAD, and LOVE YOU. Though on days when I’m curled up on my sofa crying from the stress at work and she hits LOVE YOU of course I want to believe she knows what it means (even if she doesn’t, it still makes me feel better).
But even though she’s imperfect in “talking” with her paws, Cookie is well-trained and intentional, at least with her most tangible wants like OUTSIDE and FOOD. Though I’ll admit it's annoying to be woken in the middle of the night with demands for FOOD, FOOD, FOOD.
Anyway.
One night, I was woken up by the sound of my recorded voice from the living room:
STRANGER.
This was followed by the pattering of Cookie’s little paws, followed by:
STRANGER. OUTSIDE.
I admit, my heart skipped a beat. I lay in bed huddled under the blankets, reluctant to get up and investigate.
For a long while, holding my breath, I lay there in silence.
I listened to the dog’s footsteps meander around in the main room. Finally she pressed FOOD a few times before coming back into the bedroom and curling up in her bed by the nightstand.
In the morning I checked around outside the house, but found no traces of anything unusual. I also did a Google search and laughed when I realized how many people have been spooked by their pets pressing STRANGER. I also creeped myself out with a story in The Daily Mirror of a woman whose dog pressed COLD STRANGER. According to the article, the woman was spooked by her dog’s warnings of this “cold stranger” in the corner of her living room.
But in my case, Cookie wasn’t warning me of any ghosts. One morning she hit STRANGER before running to the door and growling. This was a correct usage of the button, as a UPS driver was outside. When the doorbell rang, she actually barked (something she rarely does). Her hackles raised, tail down and ears flat. I had to apologize to the driver as I accepted the package and Cookie kept rumbling, low and deep in her throat. I told her “go away” and she skulked off. Behind me somewhere, I heard the button for STRANGER again.
“Sorry,” I told the driver, who was laughing. “She doesn’t like strange men.”
“She sounds smart, then. Do those buttons actually work?” He was intrigued.
OUTSIDE.
“Yeah, she seems to know them pretty well, so.”
FOOD. MAD.
“Sometimes she presses them kinda randomly, too,” I admitted.
“Ok, well, she sounds mad and like she wants food. Have a good day.”
I don’t know what Cookie’s history was before being adopted. But she’s always been leery of men. At least until they’ve bribed her with her favorite thing, food.
In any case, later that afternoon she pressed STRANGER again and when I looked outside, there was a turkey in our front yard. That’s when it struck me—the other night, Cookie must’ve seen a raccoon or some other animal that was a “stranger” to her.
But then came the incident that made me rethink everything. I’d just come back from a visit with my parents, and as soon as Cookie and I walked in, her hackles raised. I was unloading bags when I heard:
STRANGER. HOME.
This sent a crawl of icy fingers up my spine. Cookie wasn’t growling or barking, but she was unusually alert.
“Stranger where?” I asked. When Cookie just looked at me, I repeated myself.
She looked around the room, and then she trotted off to wander through the kitchen, came back out and went down the hall to the bedroom. Came back to me and wandered over to the buttons.
SMELL.
God, the chills I felt then. Did this mean there was a lingering smell of some stranger? Could it have been a strange animal? A squirrel that got in through the window maybe? Or the smell of something I brought in from outside?
I went walking around the house. No signs of forced entry, though I do keep a key under a flowerpot that anyone with half a brain and determination to break in could probably find. It’s a safe neighborhood, so I hadn’t thought much of it. Now, though, I removed the key and decided I’d get a lockbox for the front door instead.
After I found a footprint in the damp soil below the window, I also decided to install cameras.
Cookie, meanwhile, had calmed down and when I came back inside I found her camped beside the FOOD button.
But the real reason I swear by these buttons and how beneficial they can be is because of what happened the next week.
I was out doing some gardening and heard my name called by Greg—my supervisor at work. He was out jogging, and we struck up a conversation. He asked if he could have some water and I let him in for a drink, and as usual Cookie was growling, tail tucked and ears back just like with the delivery driver. I told her to “go away” and she backed off, though wouldn’t stop giving Greg the stink-eye. He had made himself at home in the armchair by the TV area and was remarking on what a nice place I have and asking, “Is it just you here?” when I heard my recorded voice from the living room:
STRANGER. SMELL.
Now, the fact Greg had appeared on my street, casually jogging up the sidewalk—well, it had sent up some red flags. He’d always been a little creepy as a supervisor. Not enough to go to bring a complaint forward or anything, but enough that I felt awkward about seeing him on my street.
So when Cookie pressed the buttons saying she smelled a stranger—it sent my pulse racing. Could this be the same stranger she smelled on the day I found the footprint outside the window?
I told Greg I had to take her out for a quick potty break, and while outside I phoned a friend and asked them to pretend it was an emergency. I came back in with my friend shouting loudly enough on my phone for Greg to overhear, and I told him something had come up and I had to run. We both went outside and I locked up and got in my car and waited until he was gone before I went back inside my house.
I checked the cameras, wondering if I'd find evidence of him snooping around my house. But there was nothing.
I assumed that my fears had been overblown. That maybe I had freaked out at Greg unfairly, and Cookie had pressed those buttons because she didn’t like men.
But two days later—the cameras caught him.
On a Saturday afternoon when my car was gone and I was obviously not home, Greg came strolling up my sidewalk. He looked around, seemingly trying to act casual, and then he went right to the potted plant, which he lifted, searching for the key.
I felt nauseated watching the footage. And glad I had trusted my gut (and Cookie's warnings) about the bad vibes I was getting from him. I arranged to have the locks changed and a security system installed, and informed my neighbors to be on the lookout. I did some extra button practice with Cookie to make sure she'd alert me if necessary. When I informed my boss, Greg was immediately let go. He sent me some expletive-filled, threatening emails and messages accusing me of ruining his life, before I blocked him and filed a restraining order.
That was all weeks ago.
But the reason I’m writing about it now is because yesterday, Cookie hit the STRANGER button again.
Of all buttons, that one always got a reaction from me. I immediately got up and asked her, “Stranger, where?”
She turned a circle and whined and then pressed, HOME.
That sent my pulse through the roof. I checked all through the house. No signs of intrusion. Nothing on camera either. My fluttering heart slowed.
“No stranger,” I told her.
She sulked and wandered away. She was out of sorts the rest of the evening.
Then today, she hit the button again.
MAD, she pushed. And then, STRANGER. MAD.
It was nonsensical. I found myself trying to piece together meaning the way so many other owners do when their dogs use buttons in a way that doesn't make sense. Was she calling me a stranger because I haven’t given her enough treats or pets lately? As in, “Don’t be a stranger?” But I knew that was a huge stretch. Was she saying she was mad because I wasn’t listening to her about the stranger? Maybe. But there was no stranger. I checked everywhere, including the cameras.
And then, because that button in particular always got me extra freaked out, I looked up Greg. Just to make sure he hadn’t resumed stalking me. I went to his socials, where it was clear from his recent posts he still definitely held a grudge. He’d made a bunch of rants blaming me for his life spiraling ever since his job loss. Other posts claimed he had nothing left to live for. But the part that chilled me to the core?
I found his obit.
He ended his own life two days ago.