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This is my final post as BlogHer's pets contributing editor. I will be moving back to photography coverage, and continuing to cover extended family issues on the alternate weeks. My friend and colleague Heather Clisby will be guiding you through the fun and ever-changing world of pet and animal blogs from now on.
Because this is my last pets post, I'd like to leave you with a reflection on why we have pets in the first place, such that they'd get a category here at BlogHer, such that they'd get a weird reality show, such that they'd have a place in the culture that is unrivaled by other non-human breathing entitites.
Why do human beings have pets? Why do you, if you do? Why did I, for 13 years, give a large part of my time and a good part of my heart over to two tiny dogs?
For me, it was family tradition combined with an obsession with getting a dog when I "grew up" and was out on my own. I got Boston Terriers because my grandmother had them throughout her life and I feel an extraordinary connection to them, partially as a result of her but mostly because they're awesome and hilarious dogs - for people who don't mind being followed around and nagged at the heels 24/7, that is. They have silly, affectionate, stubborn personalities and they mesh into families well (which is to say they will come to run the house and allow you to live there and pay their mortgage and buy their food and toys.)
They're also completely neurotic and on a bad day a little insane so it's good if you can handle that. They don't need to be walked a lot (which is excellent if one is prone to lazy mornings) and their grooming is easy. Finally, they're in the "so ugly they're cute" category for a lot of people who don't understand that they're incredibly beautiful, and people who didn't think they were either of those - well, I say with a smile - those are probably cat people anyway.
It could be said that I got dogs just to act on my neuroses, but I'll say in all honesty that any of those things I did, well, I blame low blood sugar. It's true, SOME pet people can seem quite strange. SOME of us dress our animals up in unfortunate costumes,
and get photos taken with Santa and talk to them incessantly as though they can not only hear but hold up their end of the conversation. Some are even prone to talking in the third person about themselves, i.e., "Mom doesn't like it when you throw up on the rug, dude," and then shuddering with horror when "they" hear the words that just came out of their mouths.
Some pet people spend money on ridiculous things, like paw-sized rainboots and gourmet peanut butter treats and a t-shirt that has "ROCKSTAR" emblazoned on the back with rhinestones. But they also work hard, you know. They get up at 6 a.m. to walk a big dog who needs to go for a mile or two, and go to great lengths to get a recalcitrant cat into a carrier for a trip to the vet. They stress over the bills for that vet and in most cases pay them anyway. They take great pains to explain the passing of a hamster or a Guinea pig to a child, and even hold elaborate backyard burials in those cases where it's called for.
"They" (ahem, ahem) may even consult a pet behaviorist when they are awakened by their beloved nine-month-old-not-quite-a-puppy pooping on their HEAD in bed at 3 a.m.. They may then feel incredibly guilty but likewise do not punch this behaviorist in the face when she says that it is all the pet person's fault because she - er, they - did not "assert herself as the alpha and clearly he's angry because of your new work schedule."
Right. Of course. And they will, as a result, drink perhaps more wine than is wise in the face of this personal alpha female failing and take the puppy out five extra times before bedtime and pray to God that never happens again because how much can a girl take?
Still, they will not think, not once, well maybe once but not a time more than that,
