According to the American Veterinary Association, 43 million Americans own dogs, 37 million own cats, 4 million own birds, 2 million horses, and another million other animals ranging from ferrets to fish.
Yesterday as I was waiting for an appointment, a fellow was talking about a woman who is visited daily by a beaver. She feeds the beaver, and in winter it sleeps next to the furnace in her basement. I was fascinated by the story, for obvious reasons, including a part of me that felt uncomfortable with the idea of a “wild” animal living indoors with someone. As I write this, Jimmy the bichon frise is asleep jammed up against me, and my Australian Shepherd Francie is giving me that meaningful stare to compel me to open the back door for her. My cats Norby and Colossus are sleeping off their breakfasts.
The current 4:1 ratio of pets to humans in this house feels normal to me. The animal population, especially when we lived on a farm in California, has been much higher. What I want to mention now is this classification of animals as wild or pets. Actually, I think there are 4 categories: wild, pets, domestic, and food.
Let's leave out the last 2 for now–although some time it will be interesting to talk about hunting in the state of Maine. What I'm curious about is why I have this line drawn in my mind between pets and wild animals. I used to have a parrot, and received a certain amount of criticism for keeping a bird in a cage, although actually that particular pet flew around the house freely much of the time. When I look at Jan's wonderful pictures of neighborhood birds, I would say the same thing if Jan popped them into cages instead of just capturing their images.
Similarly, I feel discomfort at the idea of a beaver putting its head on a woman's lap and eating pieces of apple, but I would engage in the same behavior with animals I label as pets. I'm obviously pro-pet: I think we are more human when we gain perspective on ourselves by interacting with nonhumans. It puts us in relationships of responsibility, and mutuality, and not requiring the world to function only on our terms. Living with an Australian Shepherd, a really smart animal, requires continual negotiation with her powerful demands. There are many lessons from little Jimmy, who may not be the brightest bulb on the Christmas light string, about unequivocal love–and optimism. He's a creature who lives in a world of positive expectations.
I've read some of the literature of the animal rights movement, including Peter Singers first book on the topic, and I've spent time with people who are involved in efforts to “liberate” animals, including those are defined as pets, from human domination. I think a great deal of what is wrong with families, communities, and societies in our world has indeed to do with the tendency of many to engage in dominating relationships. I can't easily dismiss the point made in the animal rights community that we use our intelligence and physical power to dominate animals. We do purchase large numbers of cages, tanks, leashes, and fences. The animals we restrain with those devices aren't given a voice in whether or not they will be used, and the very existence of Jimmy's colorful harness hanging next to his leash says a lot about our relationship. And I'm the one who wishes that lady would let the beaver live its life out in the natural world.
So why all the pets? Maybe I've traveled very far down Rationalization Avenue, but I think pets as opposed to other animals are defined by their physical and even genetic juxtaposition with human beings. That is, pets are to a certain extent artifacts created by humans for their amusement. Under the best of circumstances, there is mutuality–pets benefit from our care and our love, and we receive something in return. Jimmy, you see pictured at the top of this blog, comes from a breed of dogs that was "invented” in the 18th century by French sailors. Stuck in cramped conditions on sailing ships sometimes for years at a time, they wanted companionship. So they created these little dogs to fit in small spaces and have “merry” dispositions. This pup, who I got from a rescue group, fits my needs similarly.
I'm not sure this explanation is really an explanation at all, is it begs the question of oppression and domination. I do take good care of this creature, but he lives his life on my terms. If my concerns sound kind of extreme, talk to people in the animal rights movement. By the way, the animal rights movement, like some others, is terribly caricatured by the press. So often, the media find the most extreme and shrill proponents of animal liberation, and then use the broadest of brushes to make everyone who's concerned about the welfare of animals look like a kook. I've known people who have well thought out and heartfelt positions against the keeping of animals and pets–or the eating of animals, for that matter. I don't agree with them in many respects, but they are offering important ideas and positions.
Here's my bottom line:
I believe that we benefit deeply from sharing daily life with the non-human creatures whom we love and care for. Our pets make us more human. I also believe that our moral rationale for why we do this is frail and poorly thought out. We and our pets would benefit from a more competent examination of what we're doing, and why.
And now, I'd better let the pups out.
