HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 2011-06-30, Page 5THE CITIZEN, THURSDAY, JUNE 30, 2011. PAGE 5.
Whoever first floated the concept of
‘dumb animals’ was, well, dumb.
Sure, they probably meant ‘dumb’
as in ‘speechless’. That’s even dumber. Cows
moo, sheep bleat, crows caw and lions roar.
Pigeons, Pomeranians, puff adders and
porpoises coo, yap, hiss and squeak
respectively. The fact that humans can’t speak
their languages doesn’t make them speechless.
As for evidence of intelligence, how about a
candidate that raises armies for war, builds
bridges and vast labyrinths, keeps slaves,
raises herds for milking and employs chemical
warfare to defeat its enemies? That would be
the ant – which also employs child labour and
attacks all trespassers on sight (they’re social
creatures but they ain’t NDP).
Nope, animals are neither voiceless nor
stupid – and there’s evidence that they’re get-
ting a little fed up with the awkward hairless
bipeds who’ve had the audacity to claim
dominion over them for the past few millennia.
Put more simply: Heads up. The animals are
revolting.
Strictly anecdotal evidence so far – a
random incident here and there. Like the one
that befell Jerry Barnes and his sailboat off the
coast of Oregon last month. There was Jerry,
tootling along to an offshore race, minding his
jibs and halyards when suddenly, about a
metre off the port bow, something very like a
slimy railroad car rose out of the water, kept
rising, thirty feet, forty feet, then turned and
fell.
On Jerry Barnes’ sailboat.
“Holy @#%$&+!” remarked a member of
the crew, eloquently.
The rigging was fouled, the mast was
snapped in three pieces and the boat was
disabled enough to require a tow back to
shore. The whale – a Humpback, they think –
swam away. No one on board was hurt, but the
cetacean’s point was emphatically made: get
the hell out of my backyard.
Then there was the guy who got knifed by a
chicken down in California. Jose Luis Ochoa,
aged 35, was attending an illegal backwoods
cockfight, got a little too close to the action
and got stabbed in the calf by the knife/spur of
one of the fighting roosters. It wasn’t Jose’s
day. A cop raid followed; Jose took off and
bled to death while hiding in the woods.
Not that humans are going down without a
fight. Erin Sullivan proved that by his
encounter with a police dog in Glendale,
Arizona recently. Sullivan was burgling a
Glendale home when he was interrupted on the
job by a four-legged member of the Glendale
Police Department. The dog bit Sullivan.
Sullivan bit the dog. Now Sullivan is suing the
police department for ‘interfering with his
civil rights’. The fact that Sullivan filed his
lawsuit from a prison where he’s serving eight
years for the Glendale burglary does not
enhance his chances.
But when it comes to the animal world one
should never be too quick to judge. Witness
the case of David Bowering, of Toronto.
Bowering spent six months working as a
CUSO volunteer in Kenya back in the 1960s.
One day during his stay he came upon a young
bull elephant standing apart from the herd, one
front leg raised awkwardly in the air. The
animal was clearly distressed.
Bowering approached and carefully knelt
down before the beast. He could see a large,
jagged splinter embedded in the bottom of the
elephant’s foot. With infinite patience
Bowering opened his pocket knife and
gingerly worked the splinter out. The elephant
put its foot down on the ground and stared at
Bowering for what seemed an eternity.
Bowering didn’t move – frozen to the spot. He
knew he could easily get trampled into a stain
on the African jungle floor.
Instead, the elephant lifted its trunk almost
in a salute and slowly walked into the bush.
Bowering learned not to talk about the
encounter. No one believed him.
Forty-five years later a retired David Bowering
was walking through the Metropolitan Toronto
Zoo with a group of colleagues. When they
approached the elephant enclosure, one of the
older bulls seemed to be looking at him. “He
likes you Dave,” a friend remarked. Slowly the
elephant detached himself from the herd and
came over to face Bowering at the railing. The
old bull stared, then slowly lifted its front left
foot. Up, down, up, down, up, down – three
times, never taking his eyes off Bowering.
Could this be the same elephant he’d helped
in Kenya all those years ago? On a hunch,
Bowering climbed over the enclosure, walked
up to the elephant and stared into its eye. The
bull elephant trumpeted loudly, wrapped its
trunk around Bowering and slammed him into
the railing, killing him instantly.
Probably wasn’t the same elephant.
Arthur
Black
Other Views Those revolting dumb animals
We can all agree that animal cruelty is
one of the more deplorable acts in
today’s society. People just won’t
stand for it. The one exception, of course, is the
dog-as-an-accessory clause.
On a recent trip to Niagara Falls my friends
and I were enjoying cold pints on a warm day
on the patio of the Hard Rock Café. A young
musician was playing cover songs much to the
enjoyment of both patio patrons and lovely
girls in sundresses passing by.
People were listening, but also engaging one
another in conversation, so the sound levels
were reasonable. What I’m saying is we’re not
talking about a KISS concert here.
This was unreasonable for one patron,
however, who had her toy dog trembling like a
pebble on the tracks as the train’s coming
through whilst hanging out of its baby bag.
Apparently she had asked the musician to
‘keep it down’ a few times and when he was
finished she inquired as to whether or not the
next act would be as loud as the first one.
Not surprisingly, to me at least, the next act
was even louder – not surprisingly because
these people are musicians on the patio of the
Hard Rock, not some sort of dog sanctuary. It
was early evening and adults were enjoying a
few drinks at a restaurant famous all over the
world for its connection to rock and roll. That
would seem to come with the territory.
So the music continued and so did the worst
day of this poor dog’s life as it continued to
shake out of its fur. But this woman needed her
accessory. She needed to carry it everywhere
she went. Including frequent trips across the
street to Niagara’s ‘Secret Garden’ where the
dog was carried, set down, did its business and
was picked right back up.
Sorry, but this is animal cruelty. Dogs are
meant to walk places every now and then, not
to sit in a baby bag nest, or in someone’s arms
14 hours a day. And dogs know this too. More
often than not one can see these toy dogs trying
to scratch their way out of a hug or their
custom-made pink-and-fake-diamond dog
carrier. And they’re treated like a squirming
baby, placated and told to sit still while
mommy enjoys her strawberry daiquiri. And
after its evening at the Hard Rock Café, this
poor little dog must have thought it just spent a
few hours at Guantanamo Bay after
succumbing to its now-famous music torture.
So what did this whole visit to the Hard
Rock accomplish for this woman? Exactly
what she wanted it to. It brought her attention.
Insecurity and loneliness bred this person’s
need for attention from anyone who would
give it, except instead of a new blouse hoping
to turn heads, it was a living, breathing dog.
Now men have been guilty of this too;
they’ve been doing this for years with cute
dogs, because there is no better way to attract a
young lady out jogging than walking a very
cute and very pettable dog. This is done not by
sacrificing the dog’s safety or mental state, but
by taking it for a walk or maybe even playing
some fetch. The kind of fetch, of course, where
you throw your tennis ball a little erratically,
not landing in the open field, but rather near the
pair of girls sunbathing on the beach. Oops.
This is one more thing we can thank Paris
Hilton for. Like a bracelet or a pair of earrings,
when she started popping up at events with a
handheld pooch, girls interested in what Hilton
does with her life just had to have one.
So while it may be acceptable to some, I’m
not buying it. Anything that makes a dog freak
out like that should be considered cruel, no
matter how much attention its owner needs to
keep her ego at a level she deems adequate.
Climbing up the walls
Iwas never one of those kids growing up
who brought home animals and asked if
they could live with us.
My family had a handful of dogs, and once
I got older and (in my mind) more mature, I
had a hamster.
Aside from the fish that accompany most
childhoods, that was all that I ever had; dogs
and a hamster.
That lifestyle in no way prepared me for the
life I’m living now.
Those who visit my house should probably
have their shots before walking in because I
live in a zoo, and I don’t mean that as a joke.
I’m a huge fan of George Carlin, so I like
presenting things as they are. Some accuse me
of being conversational, but the simple fact is
I put the truth out there.
The definition of zoo is “an establishment
that maintains a collection of wild animals,
typically in a park or gardens, for study,
conservation, or display to the public”.
I live in a zoo.
Upon entering my home you may be greeted
by a small greeting party of one to four furry
friends, and I feel that, in case I refer to them
in future columns, I should probably get the
introductions out of the way.
I’ll introduce them the way I believe credits
in television shows and movies should be
done: in order of appearance (in my life).
Ailee
Ailee is the first cat Ashleigh got. She came
from the shelter in Goderich after being
rescued from what Ashleigh assures me is a
truly horrendous situation.
Ailee was the one female cat (kitten at the
time) in a house of scores of male cats.
According to the people at the shelter, it was
a miracle she survived and became well adjusted.
When they said well adjusted, I guess they
have a different meaning than I do.
Because Ashleigh was living in Brantford
when she got Ailee, I had to take care of the
small black cat for a week before she could be
safely delivered to her home.
Ailee, whom I had to share a room with
because I lived with one of my father’s very
large dogs at the time (did I mention I am
allergic to cats?), had this nifty little habit
where she liked to attack things that move. I
guess, at night, I move my hands because she
attacked them.
Suffice to say I startled her as much as she
startled me, and it hasn’t happened since.
Daisy and Luigi
Daisy and Luigi (Ashleigh and I are huge
fans of Nintendo’s Super Mario series, if
you’re wondering why those names sound
familiar) are a mated pair of cockatiels I have.
Originally a Christmas gift from Ashleigh to
me, they have become two of my top three
favourite pets because they are incredibly easy
to maintain.
Any mess is around or in their cage and they
are very clean, very quiet (usually) and are
content to sit in their cage or on top of it if they
are feeling brave.
Cockatiels are incredible pets and the first
I’d suggest for anyone getting into the whole
“I’m old enough to care for something other
than myself” phase.
They are very intelligent and, if bought in a
pair, largely self-sufficient.
The only thing I’ll warn potential visitors
about is their territorialness.
Don’t stick your finger in, around, near or at
their cage, you’ll end up with bite marks on
either side.
Phoenix
Phoenix, Luigi and I are the males of the
house, though I don’t know if a neutered male
still constitutes a tally in that count.
A second black cat, Phoenix is a furry,
welcome addition to the home. He is the only
cat, he doesn’t scratch incessantly and, like
myself, is more than happy to sit in front of the
TV on a lazy Sunday afternoon.
Ashleigh got Phoenix as a companion for
Ailee when she lived in Toronto and the two
have become a sitcom-esque couple with
Phoenix lazing around doing nothing until
Ailee calls him for dinner.
Luna
Luna, or Lunatic as is her full name, is a
very special cat.
A tortoise-shell, if I’ve got the terminology
right, she tends to be absolutely insane.
Recently she earned the nickname
basement-cat because for nearly a week we
were sure she had escaped during our move to
Blyth and was trying to make her way back to
Clinton in her own version of Homeward
Bound. (Kids, ask your older cousins and
parents about this reference).
In reality, she had hung out in a very deep
crawl space in the basement, living off who-
knows-what for how-long.
It took a Rube Goldberg-esque construct
with a bowl of food at the centre to bring her
out of the basement and close the door behind
her, but now we know to be extra vigilant
around that door.
Juno Eclipse
Known as Juno for short, Juno is a miniature
poodle puppy we recently welcomed to the zoo.
She is the first (and probably not the last) pet
that Ashleigh and I brought into the family
together.
As she prepares for her first shots and
licensing I look back to when we first got her
and I am pleasantly surprised by her rambunc-
tious nature and never-say-die attitude. I’m
sure I’ll have a column or two in the future
about the mischief she’ll undoubtedly land
herself in with her keen nose and small stature.
And for those who don’t know, the name is
from the Star Wars universe – Juno Eclipse is
a blonde pilot who beats the odds consistently,
and our Juno is living up to that name, jump-
ing to heights we’d swear she couldn’t and
fitting through holes we’ve thought impossible.
Welcome to my zoo.
Shawn
Loughlin
Shawn’s Sense
Denny
Scott
Denny’s Den
Welcome to the zoo that is my life