“What do dogs and trees have in common?” I asked during my weekly trivia night get-together.

Ernie Fert—gap-toothed and eager—raised his hand. I prayed he wouldn’t ask the usual, “Can I go to the bathroom?” The man-child suffered from elementary school PTSD. Much to my surprise, he answered, “They both need bark.” A groaner of an answer, sure, but not so far off the mark.

In fact, dogs and trees do have something remarkable in common: they can communicate with the world around them chemically.

Bizarre?

How bizarre.

Let’s talk trees. When a predator starts munching on their leaves, some trees release chemicals into the air to alert their neighbors. The surrounding tall, rooted, woody guys receive this chemical “distress signal” and pump out compounds that make their leaves taste bitter—essentially telling the predator, “This salad bar is closed.”

Acacia trees do this when giraffes start snacking on their foliage—and it works. The giraffes move on to another buffet miles away. It’s all there and more in The Hidden Life of Trees by Peter Wohlleben. My 2024 Book of the Year—not to mention the only book I actually finished.

This book not only changed how I think about trees but nature in general. I realized that living organisms communicate in ways I’d never imagined. Simple-minded me always assumed that organic communication was vocal or through body language.

It never occurred to me that floating molecules—like tiny, invisible Morse code signals dancing in the wind—could get “the word” across just as effectively, and more efficiently.

(By the way, have you ever seen a molecule? Has anyone you know ever seen a molecule? No. Just an aside. Shall we move on?)

Picture it: trees sending out their versions of smoke signals. Stop what you’re doing now and really think about it. How do a few floating molecules convey such a specific message? A configuration of different atoms essentially warns the trees: “Pump out the bitter leaf juice—giraffes on the rampage!” 

I wish I had the brains to understand this quantum gobbledegook, but I don’t. And in my defense, neither does anyone else. Quantum theory is a hoax: it’s a particle. No, it’s a wave. No—it’s both, but only if you squint.

But dogs? Dogs ain’t no quantum mystery. They’re real, amazing, and grounded in reality— poop and all. Unlike trees, which prefer their quiet chemical memos, dogs are more social in their approach: vocals, body language, and, of course, sniffin’ up the wazoo.

That said, dogs also have their own version of the tree’s chemical messaging system. It’s called pheromones—pungent molecules that let them sprinkle information around the neighborhood like the dandruff on my Uncle Syd’s stooped shoulders.

The difference is that, unlike trees’ basic “salad bar closed” signals, dog pheromones are like chemical poetry—layered, nuanced, and really gossipy. Get this: a dog’s slimy nose has 10,000 to 100,000 times more olfactory receptors than ours. That’s like comparing a dollar-store magnifying glass to the Hubble Space Telescope. This disparity means that what we smell as “wet grass” is, for dogs, a multi-sensory map that tells them what time it rained, who walked by afterward, and who tinkled on their favorite patch.

Dogs can detect the identity, sex, health, and even the mental state of another dog just by sniffing. Yes, they can tell if another dog is mentally unhinged based solely on scent. Take a minute to absorb that. It’s as mind-blowing as the cost of a Starbucks frappuccino.

The revelations of the molecule. “Imagine sniffing a park bench and immediately knowing that Ernie Fert was here—and judging by the smell, he had baked beans for lunch, macaroni for brains, and chronic toe fungus,” I tell the trivia group.

Ernie raises his hand again. “I don’t sit on park benches—I sleep on them!” “Sorry to hear that, Ernie,” I say. To which he replies, “My wife says it’s good for my back.”

(And I’m thinking: this guy has a wife?)

Aside from the Fert bits, this ability reinforces how superior a dog’s senses are compared to ours. Without technology, we humans are practically trees—stuck in survival mode, asking, “Is it safe? Is it dangerous? Do I need to run?” Dogs, on the other hand, can sniff out an entire story with a single putrid whiff.

Ah, the mysteries of the universe. Dogs and trees aren’t just flexing their senses for fun. This hyper-awareness is survival at its finest. For trees, it’s a chemical defense system honed over millions of years. For dogs, it’s a life-or-death street-smart superpower.

While we humans have dulled our senses with convenience and technology, dogs are still living in HD. They can sniff cancer, detect seizures, and find missing people. Meanwhile, I lose my keys twice a day and need an app to remind me where I parked my car.

And trees? They’re not as clueless as we think. Some scientists believe trees can recognize their relatives and even “share” nutrients through underground networks of fungi—a sort of botanical Venmo for tree families. Imagine that: while we’re stressing over how to split a restaurant bill, trees are seamlessly pooling resources to keep their sapling kids fed.

Ernie raises his hand one last time. “Are you saying dogs and trees are smarter than us?” “Maybe not smarter,” I reply. “But definitely less distracted.” Ernie nods sagely. “Yeah… I guess they don’t waste time scrolling for silly cat videos.”

Exactly. So the next time you walk through a park, take a minute to appreciate what’s really going on. The trees are sending out caterpillar alerts through chemical signals, while the dogs are posting gossip on their pee patches of grass.

And us? We’re glued to our iPhones oblivious to the world. In the grand sensory spectrum of life, we’re background noise. But that’s okay—because there’s still wonder in the world if we take a moment to look, listen and smell the pheromones.

And who knows? Maybe one day, with the right mindset and a lot of practice, we’ll finally catch on. Until then, I’ll keep watching my dog sniff trees and wondering what secrets they’re sharing—because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: life is a lot bigger and more interconnected than it seems.

As for Ernie, I think he's on to something after all. Dogs and trees—they both need bark. But they also remind us to pay attention. End of trivia night. Time for another frappuccino.