Boundaries are more subtle -- or not -- for us humans

Don't laugh -- everybody does it. We may not be as crude about it as our pets are, but in tiny, subtle ways, we let the world know this is our turf and they need to back off. When I was in college in Memphis, I went to class during the day and worked nights at the Fed Ex Hub. Often, I would stop at the Steak & Egg on Poplar (Oh, how I miss you, Steak & Egg!) and write stories and poetry or read my latest philosophy tract for my religions course. The only way to read Nietzsche or Kant is sleep-deprived and reeking of jet exhaust, because that's the only time they make sense.

Because the usual crowd that haunted the Steak & Egg at 4 a.m. did not consist of Nietzsche-reading philosopher Great American Author wannabes, I learned how to stake out my territory and be left alone. I was no raving beauty, although I was a lot thinner and prettier then, but the guys staggering into the restaurant had been out drinking out night, which, as we all know, turns Phyllis Diller into Helen of Troy.

The fact they came in without females of their own also indicated they had 1) not been able to score or 2) had been dumped, neither of which made for good pick-up criteria on my end. It never failed they would see me and come over to "share" my table, flirt, leer, drool, occasionally vomit, and always, always, ask "what's a nice girl like me doing in a place like that."

"Having breakfast" seemed to puzzle them as much as "Studying."

You'd think the fact that I was bundled up in a massive FedEx winter jacket, one that makes Pamela Anderson look like Roseanne Barr from the back, and smelled like the south end of a north bound 727 would be enough to deter them. I guess eight hours of legal and illegal intake can hinder the sense of smell as much as it does sight.

I started taking a stack of books that I would fence my area off with. The drunks would pick one up and use it as a conversation starter.

"So thish guy Dylan Thomas.... is he that ugly dude what sings 'Blowin' in the Wind?'"

"Whassha nice girl like you doin' readin' about physhicks anyway?"

(Actually, I wasn't -- I'd borrowed that one from my boyfriend's suite mate, who went on to be a NASA employee and, I suspect, a CIA spy. I should have borrowed his homemade taser instead.)

I finally got results when I changed the books. The guys would stagger in, take a look at my pile of "Bride" magazines and books with titles like "How to Find Men in Strange Places" and "How to Get That Party Boy to Settle Down and Propose," and they would find their own corner of the restaurant and leave me alone.

The cook, who may have well been the inspiration for Chef on Southpark, thought it was funny. I was never really worried about my mashers because this ex-marine, nearly 7 feet tall, never let anything get out of hand in his place.

But ever since then, I've noticed the same tendency to mark my territory. When I'm eating out something I prefer to do alone for lunch and with family at night, the markers change. Alone, and I plop my coat or purse into one chair, a notebook in front of another and my book of choice in front of me. At night, and I hang the coat up on the coat rack and let my 11-year-old snuggle up to me on my side of the booth while the two tall skinny guys take the other side. I knew good and well those snuggling days are numbered and I'm milking them for all they're worth while I can.

Some folks mark territory with obvious signs, such as fences and hedges and, in the case of one misguided Arkansas cousin, a row of half-buried tractor tires with Barbed wire weaving in and out of them. Others use subtler methods such as body language. My 17-year-old marks his territory with debris and sprawl. We have a nice-sized living room, but once Ben has collapsed on the couch, coat scattered one way, papers another, It feels as like the inside of the utility closet -- but better smelling. Sort of.

Scent has always been a territory marker, with some scents, such as perfume, saying "Come here, Big fella!" and other scents (Eau de Skunk) saying "Back Off Jack -- believe it or not, it gets worse than this!"

Our boundaries change as we get older and around different people. Some folks we want closer to us than others, obviously.

Sometimes the boundaries change simply because we're still learning how to set them. For instance, my teenagers, both of them, took a long time to figure out that using an entire bottle of Axe body scent at once converted the "Come here" boundary into the "Back off Jack" boundary.

Not that I minded that too much. I think you can use the "back off" for a little bit longer, boys. At least until you're out of college and on your own....