I have always adored fur, not the kind of fur that rich women drape around themselves but the kind still attached to four legged creatures. I have always loved animals but the thought of wearing the skin of them is abhorrent to me. I could not find any joy in draping myself with the pelt of an animal, unless it is still breathing and is on my lap by choice.
Hunting for food doesn’t upset me, if an animal is killed quickly, humanely and all of it used for a purpose, then that seems the right thing to do. Killing a bear to remove bits and pieces of it, for aphrodisiac or medicinal purposes, or even to hang it’s beautiful pelt on the wall, seems wrong.
Trucking farm animals, for hours on end, in transport trucks seems unnecessarily cruel. The terrified beasts are then herded into slaughterhouses where the smells and cries of other unfortunate beasts must create an awful panic until it is their turn to face their fate. There must be sound, economic reasons why animals are disposed of this way. Probably slaughtering animals at the place they have inhabited, and transporting them in refrigerated trucks, is too costly. Everything is related to costs and animals are not treated as living, breathing things but just reduced to the number on the bottom line.
Like most people, I try and ignore the fact that the cow in the field has anything to do with the slice of beef, sitting by the Yorkshire pudding. Calling it beef is so much more palatable than thinking of it as part of a cow. I personally do not eat meat but, as a caterer, I prepare and cook it regularly, with no qualms. This is my job, this is what I do.
Most human beings have the capability to block out of their minds, anything that is unpleasant, but we have to feel a sense of guilt when a smelly, cattle transport truck passes by, especially when we hear the plaintive cries coming from within.
Maybe it is this deep rooted guilt is why we pour such an enormous amount of affection on our domestic animals. Most of the people I know treat their animals like children myself included. My pampered pets have never known hunger or the fear of cruelty. The most distressing thing they know is being taken to the groomers or the vet.
This past few weeks have been really hot, but necessary to get some yard work done as, it has been sadly neglected for most of this hot summer. I have irrigated regularly but weeding and other clean up chores have been put off. The past week I have gone outside early in the morning, taken a bottle of drinking water, and set about my chores. The animals were by my side for the first half hour but then disappeared into the house. By ten am it is too hot to stay outside so I stagger indoors to find two dogs and a cat draped over various pieces of furniture.
Draped is the only word I can use to describe how they are lying. Flat on their backs, paws in the air and spread-eagled on chairs, to catch any breeze that happens to move past. When I enter the room, three pairs of eyes follow me but eyes are the only things that move. Not even a slight wag of a tail and certainly no attempt to get up and welcome me.
I go to the kitchen, switch on the coffee pot and wash my hands, fix my coffee and Dave’s tea then carry it through to the family room. Only then does Coco make any attempt to move. She is the oldest dog and likes to take “the bosses chair”, when it is not occupied by me. I do not need to speak, I just stand by my chair and she slowly slides off, it is clearly an imposition for her to do so, but she reluctantly gives up the seat.
Rosie, our old cat, prefers Dave’s chair and when he comes in for his break, he picks her up and places her on his lap. She is quite happy to take the new place and spends hours there, while Dave juggles the laptop around her reclining form. I soon hear the purring from across the room, she sounds like a car engine idling, so content is she on the master’s lap.
Daisy, our youngest dog, is bottom of the hierarchy, she would like to move up the line and be alpha dog, but that is not likely to happen for a long time. She moves to the floor by my chair and I feel her furry snout pushing against my leg. I lay my hand on her head and she settles down, content to have my attention.
How do animals know what time it is? We usually feed the pets at 5.00pm but, by 4.55 both dogs are sitting by my chair staring at me, willing me to get up and do the deed. If I am outside and occupied, no problem, but sitting is obviously wasting time, time I could be spending filling dog dishes. We take turns feeding the pets as neither of us like the smelly stuff the cat eats, so like to pass the job to one another. If it is Dave’s turn, I tell him the dog’s want to eat. They immediately go over to his chair and look at him. If he doesn’t move quickly enough, two doggy heads turn in my direction and give me the look. This prompts me to tell him again. If there is no action, Alpha dog gives a low woof. Dave can block out the dog’s message so alpha dog looks at me and gives a slightly louder woof. I give Dave an even louder woof and he gets up to go to the kitchen, followed by two eager dogs and a cat who is trying to look nonchalant, “I refuse to grovel” she says “but you may as well feed me at the same time”.
Most people I know are trained by their dogs, not the other way round. I have several friends who have baby sitters for their pet, when they go out. We are not that obsessed and, if we are gong to be late and the dogs don’t get to eat on time, that’s the way it is. However, I do spend a few minutes before going out, explaining to the furry faces why they cannot come this time and that I will not be long. They look at me with sad eyes that say they will probably die of loneliness but, I know that as soon as the car is out of the driveway, they are going to take over our chairs and not give us a second thought.