Where is the love?
Brutal truth is that we treat dogs better than we treat some people
About six weeks ago, I made a decision that changed my life. I decided it was time to get a couple of dogs. I’ve been without canine companionship now for at least a year, longer really, for ours was a blended canine unit, my dogs, his dog and my parents’ dog all lived together in perfect harmony for the better part of 14 years.
Of course, each death was melodramatic; I agonized over the decision to euthanize, I cried and held their paws as they died. I took time off work. People offered condolences. The decision to put down a pet is heartwrenching; the consolation comes from the knowledge their suffering is over. I felt an obligation to be compassionate to another living creature, to not prolong their suffering toward an inevitable death. I vowed I’d never go through that emotional heartache again, but here I was checking online to see what I could find in my price range.
What changed my mind?
Well, we rescued a pair of cats. Two beautiful black housebound beauties. They’re pretty chill as they sit in the windows and under the skylights, surveying their kingdom, aloof and affectionate as they see fit. While I’m a pet person, I lean strongly toward canine companionship. I admit it; it’s my ego that needs bolstered by their unquestioning dedication and loyalty. The poodles followed me around wherever I went, up the stairs, down the stairs, inside, outside, they sat at my feet and gazed up at me adoringly or slept sprawled out on the floor beside the bed. I don’t want to anthropomorphize my pets, but I think they loved me. I sure loved them. And if we’re going to have cats, well, we might as well have dogs, too.
Dogs demand more attention than cats. There’s the house-training, the come-sit-stay-wait-stop-off-quit training, the regular walks on a leash and the trips to the park, their feeding, grooming and the cost of veterinary care. Did I really want that commitment? After all, I had timed the poodles so that the end of their lifespan would coincide with my retirement, give or take a year or two. I didn’t foresee wanting to be tied down with dogs while I spied freedom on the horizon: no children, no dogs, no job.
It didn’t work that way. After years working at a desk job, I found myself less active in retirement, happy to sit in a chair and read a book or knit a sock, I became more and more sedentary, my joints stiff and achy, my muscle mass disappearing under pounds of newly acquired fat. When you don’t have to go out every day, it can be days before you go out. I just wanted to stay home and do the things I didn’t have time for when I worked — read, knit, nap, write, read, nap again. None of these activities require large muscle movement or exercise. I was starting to feel the effects. Dogs might be the answer.
It had to be two, preferably siblings. The thought of tearing a single pup from its mamma and litter mates troubled me. I bet it’s a traumatic experience to be ripped away from your family and loved ones by an alien force, unable to communicate with another of your kind, alone in a sea of strange smells and sounds. I worried how mamma would miss her babies and how they would cry for her warmth. Unable to communicate, they just don’t understand the fear and confusion that floods their awareness.
While reflecting on my dog decision, in the United States, the children of refugee asylum seekers were being forcibly removed from their parents by U.S. border agents and housed in cages in deplorable conditions. Here I was having a hard time separating puppies from their mamma. How could anyone think this is a good policy for people? Removing children from their parents and forcibly confining them in cages cannot but be an adverse childhood event that will affect their lives forever.
Canada has its own appalling record of detaining refugee applicants and separating children from their parents, so we shouldn’t think our actions are outside of this discussion.
Even animals know when the fabric of their existence — their family — is ripped asunder. The puppies were howling for their missing mamma, the children were crying for their absent parents. The advice in the puppy book was clear: puppies need lots of love to grow into well-adjusted adults. You can’t love them too much; not hard to love a puppy.
But I have to ask: where is the love for our human babies? It seems animals get more consideration.