I wonder if our nine-pound Maltipoo is aware that his occupation is Lap Dog.

He still growls when he sinks his teeth into his toys and shakes his head, as if he were tearing prey limb from limb. He still barks when the delivery man drops off a package on the front porch. He still leans forward, pulling on his leash, trying to run, when we’re out for a walk. He still sniffs and marks his territory.

If he were suddenly cast back into his natural state in the wild, he would almost certainly die quickly.