I’ve stopped mid-block on the Upper East Side to write an email on my phone, and while I’m standing there a man passes by walking his dog, a large Golden Retriever. When the dog sees me, it stops, sniffs the air curiously, and leans in toward me. ‘Come on,’ the man says, ‘You can see that guy’s on his phone, let’s go!’ Instead of heeding the command the dog sits down; then, when the man gives the red leash another tug, collapses into a lying position. I smile at the man, amused at this battle of wills, but he’s ignoring me (all his attention is focused on the dog). ‘You don’t wanna walk?’ he says gruffly. ‘Fine. Lie there. But I don’t have time for this.’ He tosses the leash onto the ground, turns on his heels and starts walking down the block. The dog looks on after him – indifferently, it seems to me at first, but then, when the man nears the end of the block, its ears perk up, suggesting a mental calculation. Is the dog wise to this reverse-psychology ploy and waiting for the man to turn around and come back? Or is this behavior genuinely confusing to the dog? I notice that at this point I’m no longer part of the equation, all the dog’s attention is riveted on its owner. Finally I hear the man call out, ‘Okay, come on!’ The dog leaps up and trots eagerly down the block, long red leash in tow.