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Wednesday, March 2, 2011

nobody wanted my action dead or alive

Sorry, I lied about getting back to you about the animal hoarding. But I'm here now and we can get started.

I think we can agree that animal hoarders are crazy. (Aside: sometimes I am concerned that I am becoming an animal hoarder, but does it only count if you have a bunch of the same animal? Because aside from my herd of mogwai I have one or two of lots of different animals, so maybe I am a zookeeper instead.) When we are staying with John's parents I sometimes watch that animal hoarder show as reassurance and aversion therapy (especially when the Food Network is showing that "The Best Thing I Ever Ate" show that I HATE), and a trademark, a lagging indicator, if you will, of the severity of the hoarding is when the hoarder looks around at his or her eighty-seven dogs or cats, fighting amongst themselves, bald from untreated mange, blind from untreated infection, oozing pus from myriad sores, running hither and yon in the inches-deep sludge of urine and feces, scratching and yowling and displaying their abject misery, and the hoarder will look at the interventionists and guilelessly assert that the animals are happy and better off this way.

Over the last ten years I have spent a good deal of time with animal shelter workers, both on the phone and in person. Depending on the worker, here are the things that count as animal cruelty:
1. no fence
2. not allowing the animal to sleep in your bed like he would in nature with his pack

They would rather keep the cats and dogs penned in their tiny kennels, unexercised, unsocialized, every day becoming more and more psychologically damaged, than adopt them out to people without a fence or who don't want hair on their bed. I do think dogs need to be fenced in many situations because they're more alarming to people encountering them unchaperoned on the street, and also because they poop on people's lawns without burying it. But if you have to choose between keeping the animal at the shelter or running the risk of them someday being hit by a car, or sleeping in the backyard or a crate in the house, what person who genuinely cares about animals would choose to keep them at the shelter? They're not sleeping with a pack at the shelter, are they? Faugh, the cognitive dissonance makes me irritated. It's just hoarding with slightly cleaner facilities and a tiny bit more financial assistance.

Last night we went to Grant's orchestra pops concert (his group played the prelude), and I can say unequivocally that the orchestra program, top to bottom, is unexceptional. The songs were recognizable, but barely. So I join Grant in his eager anticipation of the end of the school year, when he can ditch the violin and begin his introduction to the trumpet, which will go swimmingly until the first day he tries to play it for longer than a few experimental blasts and his lips begin to hurt, and then we'll start hearing again the constant complaints about WHY DOES HE HAVE TO LEARN AN INSTRUMENT ANYWAY THIS IS SO STUPID.

We went for ice cream at Peach City after the concert. I have a soft spot in my heart for Peach City, and am enthusiastic about the new management/ownership, which has given the establishment a markedly diminished meth-house/pornography ring/health code violation air. I bet people hardly ever get somebody else's ice cream at the bottom of their shakes nowadays.

2 comments:

tipsybaker said...

Ah, Peach City. Memories. Butterscotch and marshmallow sundae. It was something like that and it was great.

Tori said...

I was in the process of adopting a puppy when my sister died. I was no longer allowed to adopt the puppy. Presumably because my grief would keep me from properly caring for a dog. Looking back it just seems mean.