Canine Marxism
Posted: Sunday, June 20, 2010
by Randy Vaughan
And so I'm waiting for the young lady to give me some heartworm pills for one of our dogs. Also standing there is a chap with one of those Alaskan dogs, big dog, the ones with those piercing blue eyes that leave you with the impression that he, the dog, not the man, looks through your soul and can see into all eternity and that you, the mere puny earth mortal, are nothing more than were the ancient monks who, in the words of Martin Luther, were fleas on God's fur coat.
And so as she's leaving with the dog, another lady working there says, "Make sure to be extra gentle with him. He's a show dog."
Oh, I see, I'm thinking to myself. My dog-one of them, anyway-thinks he's a beagle. Sure, he has all the markings and stuff but there's about as much beagle in him as there is in me, and that's just enough to howl at the full moon over the things in life that annoy us, arouse our curiosity, or scare the living hell right out of us. After that, I have no idea what "breed" he is except this: He has the biggest heart in the whole wide world and if he had his way, he would never step foot outside again. Now that I think of it, he's the canine version of me or perhaps I'm the human version of him.
So not only do humans love to anthropomorphize their notions of God, gods, goddesses, angels, demons, and the rest of the inhabitants of the spiritual realms, am I to understand that we do the same thing with our animals? Now since she was to be "extra careful" with this "show dog," I'm left to conclude that she would be careful with our pure-bred Schipperke, but not "extra" careful since he's not a "show dog". As for my poor beagle-wannabe? Well, I guess "careful" doesn't matter.
What is it that so drives humans to break everything and everyone down into classes based upon the most superfluous aspects of our being and existence, things like money and looks and presumed station in life relative to that of others? I mean, let's face it: When all is said and done, and looking at humans as indeed nothing more than "just another animal" on this planet, we're born, we breathe, we eat, we excrete, we breed, we perform some type of labor to make our through life, and then we die. So if there's indeed anything common to us all, it's these and no more. And even for those who choose celibacy? No worries. Even they can't escape the blessing/curse of gender. We are, by nature, sexual beings who, along the journey of life, do those few things and not much more.
Take away the uniform from a five-star general and what do you have? A pot-bellied man who breathes, works, has sex (alone, perhaps, but it's still sex, I reckon), eats, and poops. Not very flattering and certainly not the least bit intimidating, that's for sure. And I might that this hints at the only way-short of frontal lobotomies for the entire earthling population-of having a world void of conflict, crime, and war. Ban clothes and make everyone go naked. Ha! Let's see how tough you look without those baggy clothes and nowhere to hide that gun! It's really difficult to be overly macho with people pointing at wee-Mr. Happy and laughing!
One of my supervisors from years past was a really nice fellow, older than me by just enough years so that Elizabeth Taylor was "the" sex-goddess of all time. Me? I get weak in the knees for Lauren Hutton. But anyway, he once told me that the way he kept himself in check, to not get to carried away with his "fantasies" was to picture Ms. Taylor sitting on the commode, constipated. Agreed it's a wee-bit gross, but admit it: It works. Fill in the blanks with any celebrity of any type-political, business, entertainment, sports, military-and put them in place of Ms. Taylor and viola, you have just removed every pretentious and silly reason in the world for ever having placed them on that pedestal in the first place.
And that reminds me of what one of the Gabor sisters once said was the absolute vital secret to keeping romance alive in a relationship: Never, never share the bathroom. She's quite correct on that one, by that way. My personal contribution to this would be this: If you put a television in your bedroom and then complain later about the loss of sexual passion, you're a moron.
So now I'm left with this dilemma: Do canines engage in this Marxist notion of class structure, envy, jealousy? Was that "show dog" standing there and looking down at those other pups, thinking to himself how much "better" he was? Were they sitting there going "Wow. He's a show dog!"
God, I hope not.
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