As a dog who has never been caught removing an entire bag of dog treats from the pantry, I find this offensive. We perfected the art of the tactical retreat before humans even invented the wheel.
We learn it at an early age: when someone around the house discovers half of the roast chicken cooling on the kitchen floor, you just have to shoot through to buy yourself some time.
Since the smartphone turned up though, humans have found a way of shooting through without going anywhere — they just vanish from the online place they were just in.
No farewell. No awkward conversation. No “we should definitely do this again” said through gritted teeth.
The Boss tells me the term has gained currency in the world of online dating, where two people will form a deep, passionate bond entirely through a tiny glowing rectangle.
No sniffing, no growling to establish dominance. Just staring at a glass screen. Frankly, it’s a miracle they manage to reproduce at all.
And it means no eye contact, too, which makes it easier to exit. The technique then simply requires nerve, cowardice and the ability to fake a battery problem at the right moment.
It helps if no-one has learned your full name — it’s a modified version of the traditional exit.
History is full of exit artists. Henry VIII stands out, though he lacked finesse.
When he wanted out of a marriage, he reached for the axe. That’s not a ghost, that’s just bad manners.
A true artist doesn’t resort to violence — he simply becomes intensely interested in a smell under the couch until the problem goes away.
Houdini understood the art of disappearing properly: if you are going to disappear, do it so people actually pay to watch.
Lord Lucan demonstrated the forever ghost. One minute he was there, the next — gone. No forwarding address, just theories.
That is the gold standard. It’s the exact same strategy I employ when The Boss pulls out the ear drops.
You can look for me, but you will only find a vacuum where a retriever used to be.
The Boss says it’s a power play now — a way for the young ones to indicate boredom or shut someone out of the pack without leaving fingerprints.
In my day, if you were bored with a dog, you simply walked away mid-sentence to go eat some grass, or you stared at him with unblinking, judgmental eyes until he felt uncomfortable. It was honest. It was transparent.
The modern ghosting is a coward’s game. Not because feelings are hurt, though they are. Not because it leaves loose ends, though it does.
But because it requires the ghoster to pretend, even to themselves, that the other party doesn't quite exist enough to deserve a word. It is the conversational equivalent of looking through someone.
The brave dog does not ghost. He exits cleanly, tail high, conscience intact. If I am leaving a room, it is not because I am faking a battery problem.
It is because someone took the lid off a frypan three rooms away, and I have a duty to my country.
Text me if you must, but if it doesn't smell like bacon, I am officially unavailable. Woof!
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