| Vol. I . . . . No. 1 | SUNDAY, JUNE 8, 1997 |
"Time out" I bark, "what I'm leading up to is the idea that our neighborhood has a community of dogs and owners. Some dogs don't like other dogs-like Whoopy doesn't like Effie-".
Whoopy's Grief
At this, Whoopy looks up from where she has been curled up. She has been crying and if she relied on make-up for her eye markings like human females, her mascara would be smeared all over her face. "I don't hate Effie like I'd want her dead. Okay I might want to tear that smug, self-satisfied expression off her face, but underneath our rivalry, she and I have a strong tribal bonds as Doberman-Shepherd mixes, that's why I'm taking this so hard, Stella was a soul sister too," she whimpers interrupting my chain of thought.
"Effie's in no danger. She likes her human puppy. Everything is okay, " I reassure her, but my world has been turned upside down. I'm not sure of anything. If a highly evolved canine leader like myself has lost his bearings, ,just think of the anxiety lesser dogs like Whoopy must be in.
Facts of the Case
"Who, what, where, when, Otto, you're already five paragraphs into it," Frances intones.
Now that I'm my own editor, Frances is getting uppity, and in the current environment, dogs must watch out when a happy, easy-going owner starts to show signs of aggression. Why? Because a local dog owner who everyone thought was a wonderful owner, who talked lovingly of her dog, who painted pictures of her dog, who bragged about how much her dog loved the human puppy, decided to "get rid" of that healthy still vigorous dog after nine years of companionship. In short, Stella, who I have written about in previous columns, has been murdered by her own owner. In point of fact, killed by a veterinarian the owner paid to do the deed. If this could happen to Stella, this could happen to me. When the victim is a dog, and the perpetrators the owner, murder can take place in the public square without legal repercussions. As long as it's humane. Usually "civilized owners" employ a veterinarian or "surrender" the hapless dog to the Center for Animal Care and Control. Stella's owner killed her, and it was perfectly legal.
Whoopy's Full Diaper Theory
"Frances would never do such a thing," Whoopy said, "besides her human puppy is all grown up and has his own dogs". She started worrying about the "human puppy" problem. Whoopy understands wanting puppies; she wanted puppies herself. I've told her part of the reasons dogs have trouble in the world is that there are just too many of us, we're a glut on the market. As far as I'm concerned, there's too many humans in the world too. Come to think of it, that's why humans are so quick to kill each other-not honestly teeth to the carotids-but on the sneak, with pollution, unsafe machinery, legal murder.
I was sad when that Frida, who had a family resemblance to me, went to a new home on the West Coast when her owner had a baby, but reports indicate Frida is really happy in her new household. Even if Frida occasionally pines for the old days, she's still alive. Stella won't have the chance at a new owner. Stella'a owner killed her.
Whoopy has been sending the following pee mail around town: "Human puppies are dangerous to a dog's health. Prevent the problem at all costs: pester potential 'admirers' your owner might have until they go away, sleep between already coupled owners of reproductive potential, bark annoyingly outside bedroom doors, destroy adoption papers."
Whoopy as usual is off on the wrong track, chasing after a full diaper, when there's a smoking gun. After all, some humans deliberately adopt a puppy when they are expecting a human puppy so the baby and the dog can grow up together. Frances's big, unruly Irish setter, Yeats, adjusted to his younger "human puppy" brother. One of France's little boy's first sentences was "Yeats, you're a dog, do you know that?" I've never met Frances's human puppy, but I guess, Yeats still managed to teach this human toddler the lesson of self and other, not to mention the wonder of recognizing a whole other consciousness. Stella will never have the chance to teach her human puppy that lesson. Stella'a owner killed her.
Stella's owner was offered dog day care, behavioral training for Stella, help in finding a new home. Stella's owner was a "good owner". No one believed she would kill her dog. Stella's owner killed her.
Human Liberals
Don't worry I'm not letting Frances off the hook. She considers herself a friend to dogs, not Just to the dogs who live in her household-and she knew Stella. Where was she when Stella was murdered? At an art show in the city. She knew that Stella's owner had threatened to kill her, that Stella so upset and desperate she was on suicide watch at the kennel.
"Why didn't you stop it?" I asked Frances. She tried to weasel out of it. "I called Best Friends Sanctuary in Utah, twice, I was willing to pay to ship Stella out there. I couldn't reach the administrator." "Big deal," I sneered, "you picked up the phone. You human liberals make me sick. Stella's dead, and you didn't do a damn thing to stop it. I believed in you and you failed me."
Just a Bad Dream?
Whoopy and Charlotte looked frightened and shocked. Frances knew I was right. "Otto, I couldn't have had Stella here. You guys wouldn't have liked it, especially Whoopy, and sometimes the three of you are almost too much for me."
"So are you going to kill me?" I shot back and stalked off to my mat. I thought I was too upset to sleep but I dozed off. In my dream my owner had turned into a giant metal monster, beeping and wailing like a car alarm but still smelling like my owner-I do love her, that's what hurts-she's got a giant spike collar on me like she makes Whoopy wear on the street to keep her from lunging. All my human friends are watching as I am pulled up the stairs to the vet. They look sad, but they stand aside for the monster who is much stronger than me and pulls me up the stairs to the vet who has given me shots in the past but also given me a treat afterwards. I know I am going to die. "I'm healthy, I can climb stairs, I hold my urine for 12 hours," I scream. "I thought you loved me" I call out to my monster-owner and my friends. The friends do nothing. the monster keeps pulling me up the Stairs onto the cold high steel table-".
"Otto, Otto! Are you okay?" my owner is shaking me awake. "You had a bad dream. Let's go to the dog run."
Frances and I went to the dog run. Frances shared her pizza with me even though I'm supposed to be on a diet. I made a play for a spiffy hot bitch named Ramona, who told me off. There is sunshine and interesting smells. In short, a dog's life can be a good life. My spirits lift.
This good life depends on trust. In a dog run, owners must trust their dogs not to take disagreements too far, not to hurt other dogs who annoy them. Owners must trust other owners to guide and chastise their dogs, to help break up fights. Dogs need to trust other humans and their owners. Dogs, like humans, have a deep need to be social beings. Why the hell else would I give up all my chew toys to Whoopy? Why do humans help each other move? Whatever the laws are, the phrase "my dog" should mean love and social responsibility, not property to dispose of as an owner likes.
Run While You Can
When I started writing this column, I was angry at all the humans who stood by and did nothing. I had a great ending-addressed to my fellow dogs- already composed, "Don't trust anybody. Your owner could turn vicious, and if she does, fuck loyalty, run! In a just world, we dogs could euthanize vicious owners, but we can't, so hit the streets and watch out for the motorcycles and gypsy cabs."
This strategy worked for me. I was lucky. I escaped from the cruel junkyard owners and, after a week in the streets, found a kind human rescuer. My rescuer fostered me until I got my health back. I got free dips for the mange, and after a couple of false starts, found an owner who appreciates me. Hitting the streets probably wouldn't work for little Charlotte, who'd last about three hours.
Stella's death was so outrageous, no wonder it has caused such upset in our little community of owners and dogs. We face external threats-from dog haters and landlords who discriminate, to fleas and broken bottles. We have rivalries and disputes among ourselves, but we weren't expecting this anomaly from within our own community. We dogs think to ourselves, if it can happen to Stella, can this happen to us? You humans feel guilty and upset-too late for Stella. Stella's owner killed her.
Rebuilding Trust
Dogs, we must trust humans despite their frailties and indifference, just as the ancestral dogs did. Otherwise, we'd be giving up on our overriding mission, that together, humans and dogs can evolve to higher moral and socially responsible species. Some of those ancestral dogs were disappointed as we are now, when they trusted humans and ended up being roasted on a spit.
Humans, admit you dropped the ball. Stella's owner not only murdered her dog but murdered her so brazenly and arrogantly and in such a self dramatizing way, that Stella's blood was not only on her hands but splattered onto our dog/owner community. You guys can go on blaming each other and making excuses for yourselves, or just state for once and for all "Stella was murdered and we didn't stop it." Then start rebuilding the trust and community this event threatened to shatter.
Fuck "the times" fuck "what's customary." Let's stop wailing over animal abuse while letting our work crumble. Instead, let's get to work and rebuild what is less a "peaceable kingdom" than a noisy republic of interspecies give and take.
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