"I'm trying to find a quotation, but it seems like people like animals..." ~Rachele, trying to help me with a blogpost title

           The funny thing about living in a place like Jamaica Plain, which may very well be the hippie and dog-walking capital of Massachusetts, (although Northampton may trump it), is that people constantly look up at you expectantly when their dogs try to sniff your crotch. I have seen that look on a dog walker’s face more times than I can tell—the one that says Don’t I have the cutest dog in the world? When this look is directed at me, it is inevitably followed by a look of disappointment on the dog owner’s face. I consistently fail to coo at and delight in their dog’s presence, but rather just look confused as to why they have let their animal get so close to me. I seem to be missing a gene that allows me to find cuteness in the face of a dog or any animal over the age of say, six months. To quote Tina Fey in Bossypants:

          I don’t hate animals and I would never hurt an animal; I just don’t actively care about them. When a coworker shows me cute pictures of her dog, I struggle to respond correctly, like an autistic person who has been taught to recognize human emotions from flash cards. In short, I am the worst.

          This sentiment really sums up how I, as an animal neutral person feel in a town and society full of dog lovers. I am often moved by cherub-like babies who pass me in strollers and have bonded with a cute kitten in my day. I can even see the appeal of a tiny, fuzzy puppy in a toilet paper commercial, but once the animal is grown, I feel literally nothing when looking at it. And don’t think that I haven’t contemplated the thought that this makes me a terrible person. I have.

          When I was on my semester abroad, I had a roommate who was a Wicken and animal activist, (not to mention a born-again Christian living in the same flat, but that could be an entirely other blogpost). When she invited me to volunteer with her at the cat shelter in Rome, my complete indifference toward the idea of volunteering in this way actually disturbed me, and yet, I could think of one hundred other things I would rather be doing. I thought of at least one, because I never did go with her any of the times she went. At the time, the experience of living in an apartment full of differing world viewpoints was constantly calling into question my own beliefs. As one of the most liberal in the apartment I kept thinking: “If I consider myself a true liberal, doesn’t that mean I should have a love for all of the world’s creatures?”

          And I guess I have reconciled this question to myself. I think that people who willingly abuse defenseless animals for their own pleasure are sociopaths. It’s just that prevention of animal abuse is not a cause I feel strongly about. I also believe our culture has arbitrarily divided animals into those we love and care for and those we eat. If you are a passionate animal lover, trying to gain my support for your cause, you had best be a vegetarian, because otherwise I will consider your argument moot. I, on the other hand could never be a vegetarian. My love for bacon is also a passionate one.

          In any narrative I have read which tracks the relationship between a man and his dog best friend, as in a subplot in Water for Elephants for example, I am moved. Mostly though, what moves me is the story of the person who has been so mistreated and rejected by society that he turns to an animal for comfort, and that animal represents everything he has left. In The Things They Carried, Tim O’Brien tells the story of a man who mercilessly kills an animal as a symptom of his trauma while serving in the Vietnam War. The author points out that when he has told that story, (and I’m not sure how this would come up as cocktail party conversation), someone will inevitably express grief for the murdered animal. O’Brien is quick to point out that they’ve missed the point and I agree with him. Maybe that makes me deficient in some way but I can’t help it. The story of the man who would be driven to do such a thing is more disturbing and poignant to me than that of the death of the animal.

          Recently at work, someone’s pet died and we all made a donation to an animal shelter in its memory. I participated not because I felt particularly compelled to donate for the animals, but because I could understand what it meant for this co-worker to lose her dog and this was a reasonable contribution to her consolation.

          I have a wonderful fiancée, (yes, using the new word as much as possible), who understands my animal loving deficiencies despite being a dog lover himself. For now, neither of us has time to care for a dog. This is something he realized when sitting for a friends’ dog for a week. When you have a work, teaching, and rehearsal schedule like we do, it’s just not fair to any animal. But perhaps someday he will want a puppy. I have already made sure to make my viewpoint clear in advance. If he chooses to get a dog, it will be his dog and he can take it for walks and pick its poop up in a bag.

          I once took an online quiz regarding my “real age” and my longevity. It suggested I get a dog to increase my lifespan. Pretty sure that getting one at this point would only take away sane years of my life.