I’m not a pet person. It boggles my mind the way some people (those of whom I’ve had in my life) can place an animal’s life over a person’s. You’ve seen the type. They will get teary eyed over that sappy Sarah McLachlan animal slideshow….
“In the arrrrrrmmmms of annnnn ANGEEELLLLLLL…”
…and proceed to tell you how they want to adopt every animal in the world, or start a zoo, or something crazy. Meanwhile all this is happening they are talking over a ‘Feed the Children’ commerical……
While I give them the same look of incredulousness.
I don’t get how that differential can be balanced like that where a pet’s life out values a human life.
Now this observation isn’t from my lifelong detestment of domesticated animals. This was sparked by a conversation I had with someone the other night, and the business dilemma I’m currently facing (more on that later). In the meantime let me elaborate more upon this detestment I have for the domesticated four legged friends of yours. I personally can’t stand to share personal space with animals. I couldn’t have them on my bed or couch. I can’t kiss them or touch their faces. I can’t treat them like my children. Seeing it done in person truthfully freaks me out. Do it all you want just don’t expect a high five from me until you wash your hands. I guess I’m biased because I was traumatized…
Every morning during my 3rd and 4th grade school year I’d get up, put on my clothes for school, get a little bit of breakfast with my cartoons, and prepare myself for the morning death sprint I knew I was about to embark on. I’d pack light, ensuring I left my heaviest of books purposefully at school. If the homework needed to be done with the book I simply did it in class (what can I say?I was always a logistics genuis.) I’d make sure I had the best shoes fitted for running. If dress shoes were required to be worn that day (DAMN YOU PICTURE DAY!!!) then I compromised by alternating my escape route. Grab the last bit of food off my plate and turn off the television. Check over my pack and gear ensuring everything was soundproofed. The slightest premature noise could easily ruin all of this preparation. I’d be sure to creep stealthy as a ninja out of my door. Unlocking it as slow as necessary, oiling the bolts with lotion or vaseline because I had no concept of WD40. Finally breaching the threshold, I’d close the door as slow as possible and insert my key with the finest of care. I’d made mistakes in the past by moving too hastily and giving my position away (how careless I was in my young age). Now I was ready. I was prepared.
All notions of taking things so slow and facing my fear were all together nullified. They had no form of rationalization. They could not be reasoned with. I had made several attempts to soothe my attackers and even misdirect them, but all attempts had fail. As I take my key out of the lock, the hedges surrounding the entryway to the sidewalk, and subsequently my racing lane, give me those last moments of solace. All other thoughts have been pushed from my mind…it is time to flee. As I break from cover I’m faced with this at the end of street.
Only maybe not exactly this…..They didn’t have chains
The biggest Rottweiler in existence flanked by two of the meanest miniature schnauzers would wake from there slumber and pursue me with the evilest of intent. Half way through the 1 mile trek was a park complete with slide, monkey bars, and swingset. I’d normally lose the hellhounds by then but that wouldn’t stop me. I’d time everything just right so that way I did not lead the beasts to the unsuspecting children waiting for the bus like myself. I’d time it perfect so that way I arrived JUST when the bus was about to pull away. You know. Because I’m all noble and shit.
The second instance in my young life was that my best buddy in that apartment complex and myself could barely be separated. He was too much of a jokester for my taste, my mom didn’t like having people over when she wasn’t home, and his mom was racist but we were inseparable somehow. Anyway one day he decides to sneak me into his house so we can grab some food and play with some toys (read: Get out of the sun. Oklahoma summers were always a bit too hot). My best buddy in the whole world (at the time) failed to tell me that he had been devising this diabolical scheme to get me to like animals. He left out a few details about his home;
1.) He had a younger sister that was more diabolical than he.
2.) She had a crush on me.
3.) They owned 2 fully clawed cats.
4.) His sister threw cats at people she likes.
I’m not even going to finish the rest of this story. White middle aged woman startled by the screams of a flailing black kid that snuck into her home. You get it.
Anyways this all sparked from the tenants I have currently living in the house that I own. After I specifically stated I didn’t want pets in the house, they have asked if they can have a dog on the premises and amend the lease. These people have been there a month. *sigh*
First world problems.