Chinook
by George Hosier II  - May 21, 2008

The Untouchables

Some people don’t like animals in the house. I pity such shallow minds. That type of person must be completely devoid of one of the most basic of common denominators which define human decency. I would call house pet bashers “petty”, but the term might be confusing, since it seems that petting is the last thing on such folks’ minds when an animal trespasses into their personal space.

To see their pupils dilate, to observe their cheek twitch, to watch them writhe and fidget, to hear them whine, you would think someone was trying to hand them a religious pamphlet or a Ron Paul flyer. I tell you, it’s not normal to stifle one’s primordial petting urge. But when someone so perverts their instincts to the point that a kitten or a puppy actually invokes a reaction of disgust, I consider that to be a clear sign of pathological mental illness.

Even the most casual observation of the carefree interaction between a small child and a pet, will support the veracity of my claim. When an infant, not yet jaded by the baggage of societal expectations, sees an animal, what is the child’s immediate response to the stimulus? Even a squealing, slobbering baby will scoot across the carpet as fast as his chafing pamper permits, in order to initiate a tactile link with the wiggly furry visitor.

Therefore, I cannot call the pet bashers petty. I shall instead refer to them as “The Untouchables”. They have erected a psychological wall to insulate themselves from being touched by anything associated with a living creature outside of their own species.

Their smile muscles remain stoically untouched by the adorable antics of a cutesy wootsey widdle kitty widdy or darling puppy wuppy. Their compassion is untouched by their own children’s plaintive pleas to buy them a tarantula or an iguana or a Vietnamese pot-bellied pig. They make good and sure they are untouched by the actual animal itself, even going so far as to draw their legs up onto your sofa when your precious little Pekinese playfully begins feeding on their shins.

Moreover, their sleeves are untouched by dog drool, their pant legs are untouched by cat hair and their bare feet are untouched by warm piddle puddles on the cold bathroom floor at midnight. Their budget is untouched by a felt catnip mouse on a string with a bell on it, or a smoke-dried pig snout, or an exercise ball, or even a shipwreck aquarium aerator. Their car hood is untouched by muddy paw prints. Their bedroom slippers are untouched by marauding ferret bandits. Their earrings are untouched by the beaks of inquisitive parrots. Aloof, and pristine and untouched, these sad, lonely people are truly The Untouchables.

I wish I could help them understand what a flat, one-dimensional life they are leading. Without household pets, they are caricatures experiencing a black and white silent movie in an HDTV surround sound world. I’ve heard their excuses, of course, vouchsafed in a patronizing murmur as they dab at the symptoms of an alleged nasal allergy with an expensive monogrammed hanky. Frankly, I find that all of their excuses ring hollow.

For instance, I have been told that animals stink, and that The Untouchables don’t want their house to smell like a giant litter box. I think that is the most bigoted statement I have ever heard. Nothing stinks. Just because you are not culturally comfortable with a particular olfactory input, doesn’t mean that you should refer to it with a sensory slur like “stink”.

A dog has a sense of smell 50-100 times more powerful than ours. If anybody is qualified to be a self-appointed Fuehrer of the Scent Gestapo, I think a dog would fit the job description. And yet, have you ever seen a dog recoil at a human’s body odor? Does a dog tell you that you stink? By no means!

As a matter of fact, the more pronounced your odor, the more enthusiastically a dog will greet you, shoving his snuffling snout in unpretentious greeting into any body cavity that emanates an aroma. It is as if he is saying, “Hello! Welcome to my world. I accept you as you are. I offer you my love regardless of your sex, ethnicity, age, creed or odiferous orientation. Achoo! Achoo! Oh, pardon my sneezing! That was a totally involuntary reaction, I assure you, and in no way intended to negatively comment on your choice of personal hygiene. Wanna play squeaky toy?”

I have also heard The Untouchables refer to animals as “destructive”. What a pejorative term! Why can’t we think of animals as God’s reminder to us of our own human fallibility? We can allow pet destructive incidents to embitter us. Or we can humbly adjust our perspective so that we gain a renewed understanding of our insignificance in the vast scope of the universe.

A recent event at or house is a case in point. One morning last week, my wife awakened to a contented gnawing sound. Because she had been reading before she fell asleep, she had laid her glasses on top of her book on the floor beside her bed. Now, she needed them in order to identify the pet responsible for the gnawing and to evaluate the appropriateness of the item being gnawed. Blindly, she groped about for the glasses. At length, unable to locate them, she rose from bed and stumbled toward the gnawing sound, squinting gnaw-ward in the dim morning light.

At her approach, Terkel, our teething puppy, startled guiltily and abruptly retired to his crate. My wife’s blurred vision was able to make out a gnarled twig of some sort resting on the floor where the pup had been. Stooping, she retrieved it from the puddle of drool and began to inspect it. Slowly the reality began to filter into her groggy brain: This twisted bit of stick was all that remained of her glasses, wrenched into a nearly unrecognizable tangle of scrap metal. The lenses lay separately, scored and deeply pitted by puppy teeth.

A lesser person would have screamed, “Stupid Dog!” and taken the dog outside to put a bullet through its head. My wife, however, was bigger than that. She was able to spend several minutes elaborating on the “Stupid Dog” concept without actually using the word “stupid” or repeating herself once. Some excerpts follow.

“…that dog is as useful as a chocolate teapot…compared to him, mold is a higher life form…he suffers from Clue Deficit Disorder…some dogs drink from the commode of knowledge, but he just gargles…he was the runt of a one-dog litter…he’s one board short of a dog house…he chases parked cars…he’s congenitally immune from brain trauma…if his IQ were any lower he would only need to be watered twice a week…his mind chased a squirrel and never came back…his head whistles in a cross-wind…he was born during low tide in the gene pool…”

Gently, I reminded my wife of the valuable lessons that we can glean from such experiences. Tenderly, I asked her if it was fairer to question the intelligence of a teething puppy who has no perspective from which to appreciate the value of a pair of glasses, or the IQ of a woman who lays her glasses on the floor where a teething puppy can reach them and then falls asleep for several hours. Chastened and humbled by her own fallibility, she bowed to my wisdom and urged me to join the puppy in sleeping in the doghouse for the next week. Undoubtedly she felt unworthy of my company and wished me to spend some time in the company of someone who would be able to bestow upon me the pure simple love that she found herself incapable of giving at that difficult period in her life.

Some of The Untouchables dismiss all animals as being dumb beasts, unable to interact with their environment on more than the most instinctive level. In reality, nothing could be farther from the truth. Why, just a couple of days ago, I watched in awe as Sheila, our
adult Australian Shepherd/Akita/Rottweiler mix, and Terkel, the 6-month-old Great Dane/Mastiff/Rottweiler/Straffordshire Terrier mix, played a game of red teddy bear hockey with Bandit, the ferret. Unmistakably they had improvised the game on the spot, and the rules were very clear to me as a spectator. Let me try to summarize them.

Sheila and Terkel play on one team. Bandit plays on the other. Game equipment consists of a small stuffed red teddy bear hereafter referred to as “the puck”. The object of the game is different for each side. If Bandit can get the puck under the love seat, she wins. If the dogs maintain control of the puck until Bandit loses interest, they win. Bandit may use various strategies to attempt to steal the puck. If she is able to grab it, the dogs must intercept her before she reaches the goal.

Legal moves include the following: Sheila may attempt to dislodge Bandit’s teeth from the puck by swinging it into the air with ferret attached, then shaking her head vigorously. Bandit may make exuberant leaps in the air at the dogs’ faces or dodge suddenly between their legs, leaving them rubbernecking in surprise at her mysterious disappearance. Terkel may take Bandit’s tail in his mouth and, lifting her hind legs off of the ground, do a wheelbarrow race with her. Physical contact is allowed as long as no blood is drawn. This may include stomping Bandit’s head with a paw, or clamping teeth onto a dog’s lip or eyelid and dangling off of their face. If Bandit retreats to the goal for a time out, a dog may push the puck close to the crack under the love seat with his or her nose, thus luring the opposing team to make a foolhardy run at the puck.

I truly feel sorry for The Untouchables. I hope someday a very noisy pair of molting cockatiels will enter their world and enrich their life. Until that happy day, I proudly remain a member of a different caste. We call ourselves “The Touched”.
 

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