The dog-squirrel relationship can be much more complex than has ever been acknowledged.

Yeah, yeah. I know. For some dogs, the interchange is as predictable as a cartoon script: Dog sees squirrel. Dog launches into predator mode, ripping across the yard (or field or asphalt) at breakneck speed, aiming to defy the odds this one time and actually snag the acorn-hugger before it leaps to safety. Having failed (for the 700th time) to outrun the tree-scrambler, dog sits, ears forward, staring upward, willing the squirrel to abandon its perch (and become a big, brave dog snack).

Yup. We've all seen that.

But I would suggest that among some dogs and squirrels, the exchange is far more nuanced. The interplay that unfolds — if you watch, really watch — is as synchronized, as intriguing as a Viennese waltz.

And if not that, comical.

Kinda depends on the dog ... and the squirrel.

Take Jasper, my mixed-breed. Obsessed with squirrels. Can't focus on anything else when they're skittering up tree trunks, dancing across our wood fence or sitting on a low limb chattering. Jasper takes off like a missile when one crosses the yard. And that dog's faaaast—it's clear his mutt genes are infused with field-dog breeds and loads of inner drive to go after anything that gives him an excuse to launch into a full-bore, belly-touching-the-ground chase.

I thought I had his squirrel thing all figured out.

And then I noticed this in the early-summer weeks last year: Sometimes, when Jasper was gaining ground on one of the young squirrels too inexperienced and too dumb to stay sufficiently close to an escape valve, he'd actually slow down a little. Kept running, but at a reduced rate that any of us familiar with him know doesn't approach his best work.

"Wait. Did he actually slow down just now?" asked a friend who witnessed this phenomenon last year. She was the first but definitely not the last to observe this odd behavior.

Call me crazy, but I have decided that he has decided the process is no longer about catching the squirrel. It is, purely and simply, a game he doesn't care to win. He loves the chase, enjoys hurling himself against the tree a split second after the squirrel has escaped and revels in circling while the squirrel looks down at him and chatters ("blah, blah, blah, I beat you again").

And the game ends each and every time exactly as Jasper wants it to.

Well, then I figured out something else: There's a particular squirrel for whom Jasper seems to have special affection (and, I think, there's a right-back-at-ya thing going on). When my dog sees this squirrel (I can distinguish her from the others by her scraggly tail, but Jasper may see something else) he wags his tail happily. They're not friends, but they do seem to have an "understanding." This squirrel will run back and forth along the tall fence for several minutes and Jasper follows, faking, cutting and twirling. When the squirrel stops, Jasper stops. When the squirrel starts up again, Jasper does. Nearly every day they pass a few minutes in this way. There's no chattering and no barking. It's a quiet dance conducted some distance apart.

My best dog-squirrel story, however, has to do with my late, great Buck, a chocolate Lab mix. We were living high in the Rockies near Breckenridge, and the deck, two stories up, nestled in the evergreens, was a favored stopping ground for squirrels. Buck felt one of his duties (and he took all responsibility very seriously) was to protect the territory from all interlopers, especially squirrels. He'd jet out the sliding glass doors roaring with hatred and, having sent the squirrels scattering, would lie there for hours, one eye open, snapping to alertness if a squirrel ventured near.

Sometimes squirrels would sit on a safe-distance branch and yell at him. This incited even greater ferocity.

One day I heard Buck, lounging on/guarding the deck, yelp in pain. I dashed out and saw a green pine cone lying close to his head. A few minutes later I saw from inside another pine cone fly down on him. These weren't light-as-air dried pinecones; they're heavy dense green ones that feel like a rock when they hit.

Again it happened. I glanced up and saw the squirrel was dropping pine cones on my dog, an activity that continued throughout that summer. As weapons go, a hurled pine cone ain't exactly deadly, but the creativity is pretty impressive.

Which bring us to this: Animal experts believe that corvids, the bird family that includes crows and jays, are a lot smarter than most in the animal kingdom because they use "tools" to accomplish things.

Sorta like that pay-back squirrel.

I'm thinking maybe some of those researchers should be observing squirrels and dogs doing their thing together.