In
some ways, I think comparing pets is sort of like comparing kids. You shouldn’t
do it. A pet is a pet, after all. Sure, some are easier to care for than others.
Some might be more affectionate. Some might be more protective. Some might even
be a bigger pain in the neck. Still, a pet is a pet, and if you really care for
each equally and invest the same amount of time and give of yourself with the
same enthusiasm, shouldn’t the love you provide each also be the same?
Well,
no, actually. It would be nice, but it doesn’t work that way usually. It’s a
hell of a lot easier to love a good dog than a hermit crab. It’s a hell of a
lot easier to cozy up with a cat than a turtle. It’s a hell of a lot easier to
get instant feedback from a faithful companion that a damn goldfish that is
only looking for its next meal to come magically falling from the sky. At least
in my experience with pets, that’s the way it’s been, and we’ve had a few pets
roll through our house over the years. Dogs, cats, fish, birds. A ferret. A
rabbit. Hermit crabs and rats. Frogs. Flipping zoo.
That
said, I still hate to compare one dog that has been part of my life to another. I always feel bad when I do it. I feel worse when I badmouth one of my
pets, but I can’t say it stops me from doing it. Take our current dog Slim, for
example. He’s a purebred chocolate lab that is beautiful and the picture of
grace when he’s out in the wild running to and fro. In our house, though, he’s
a complete tool and dofus. The biggest part of the day is hoping that some
morsels will fall from my daughter’s plate into his wide-open waiting mouth. Sincerely.
That’s all he lives for. If those morsels don’t come, he’ll just adlib and
snatch up whatever else isn’t tied down. And when I write “whatever else,” I
mean it. Pans of bacon grease. Entire tubs of bubblegum, wrappers and all. Ears
of corn from my garden. Loaves of bread. Cat extract. Jars of Vaseline. You
name it, he’s eaten it. I love Slim, and he’s a good protector, and I value his
dopiness on some level, but he tests my patience each and every day, and he
without a doubt makes life harder than it has to be.
Our current
cats are much the same. They’re both male, and they’re both weird. I like them,
and occasionally they’ll even put aside the quirky ways long enough to sit on
my lap and watch a little television, but for the most part they keep to
themselves and engage only on their terms. That’s pretty much true of all cats,
I suppose, so it doesn’t upset me too much. Like Slim, our cats, Lou and Beck,
are good pets, but there seems to be a ceiling to which our relationship will
never extend beyond not matter how much time and energy we spend together.
This
kind of distance between a pet and its owner seems to become so much more
obvious when the owner has previously had that once-in-a-lifetime pet that
transcended the obvious human-animal barrier. Miles and Scout were those kinds
of pets. Miles I miss every day. There are reminders of him all around our
house in the form of photos and old dog collars and even his paw prints
permanently etched on paper, but more often than not, those reminders make it
only harder to accept he’s not following me around from room to room and that I
won’t ever hear his booming snore deep in the night again. He was a friend’s
friend in every sense that a human is a friend. The only difference is we
couldn’t speak actual words. We didn’t really need to, though. There was an
understanding still.
Loyal
and reliable. Protective and dependable. Loving and caring. Affectionate and
pure. Miles was there when you needed him but never seemed to ask for anything
but a bowl of food once in a while in return. He watched over my kids and my
house. He played with my daughters and tolerated their tugging and pulling. He
made friends easily and was loved by pretty much anyone who crossed paths with
him. He got into trouble, but it wasn’t hard to forgive him.
When
Miles got sick and his future days were numbered, it broke my heart in ways that
I didn’t know possible. He wasn’t my first pet by any means, but he was the
most difficult to let go of by far. I’d literally take years off my own life if
it were possible to bring him back, he meant that much. He unified my family in
ways we didn’t know when he was alive, and I couldn’t be more thankful for his
presence. People who discount the importance of pets or belittle animals’
importance in general are morons. Straight-up morons.
Scout
we had for 15 years. We got her, along with Cleo, the same year my daughter was
one. We watched all three grow up together, and Scout became my buddy. We
watched TV together, we read books together, and we tolerated the chaos and
madness that was at work in my house together. We snuck off to quiet spots
together and when time would allow, took naps together in the peace and quiet.
Scout was a beauty, and just like the little girl in “To Kill A Mockingbird” that
she was named after, Scout was independent and could hold her own. Watching
television late at night hasn’t been the same since she has gone.
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