No kids. Tess and I both have two grown kids and all are out there in that big world on their own.
Yet we do have others who live in our home and, much like children, they demand our attention, financial support and affection. Like children, they each have their own distinct personalities, idiosyncrasies, flaws, phobias and charms.
It’s like an especially hairy version of The Brady Bunch.
When we met, I had a dog and a cat. Tess had three dogs.
It was not an easy transition, I admit, but all of the animals have made their peace and each has established his or her own place in the home.
Especially, the cat. Tiger is a four-year-old orange tabby. He is also the undisputed boss, a hard-earned title if there ever was one. Dooley, my black-and-tan dachshund, was the first to challenge Tiger’s dominance well before Tess came into the equation. All it took to settle that matter was a few swipes of Tiger’s razor-sharp claws to establish that, for all his menacing, barking bluster, Dooley was no match for a cat who has run out of patience.
It was the same when Tess and her three dogs arrived. One-by-one, the dogs snarled and snapped and chased Tiger about the house but only until Tiger’s patience was exhausted. At that point, they each got the business end of Tiger’s paws and the matter was permanently settled.
Among the dogs, if there is a hierarchy, Dooley stands at the top. He is the alpha male and the other dogs, all females, don’t seem to put much value in being the top dog, not even Paddy, a boxer/bird dog mix who towers over Dooley, yet generally demurs when Dooley challenges him over a stick, a ball, the first greedy mouthfuls of food, etc. Vera, a lap-dog of undetermined breeding, is pretty much afraid of everything while Mollie, an ancient Shih Tzu who has the energy — and appearance — of a dust mop, is a cranky old lady who glories in the fact that she alone gets to sleep in our bed and gets special dog food that the others aren’t permitted to share.
In addition to the natural friction between the dogs and cats, the dogs have to get accustomed to one another, too.
By now, though, everybody is at peace. There are really no disputes. Dooley and Paddy, being outside dogs, come into the house for a few hours each evening, but it presents not interruption to the domestic tranquility. By 8 each night, there are five dogs and a cat snoring contentedly in our living room.
I have been thinking about that this week, a week marked by a bitter, unfortunate and unnecessary dispute in Starkville over the city’s about-face on a year-old policy anti-discrimination policy that included LGBT people.
Tuesday, the issue was finally settled: The city no longer has a policy saying that it will not discriminate against LGBT people.
Most of the arguments against including LGBT people were centered on religion. Sadly, these people see the anti-discrimination policy as an endorsement of “homosexuality.” There were any number of efforts to make the distinction, but it was a point many simple were unable or unwilling to grasp.
I am still scratching my head of it, to be honest, and am forced to conclude that in some respects, animals are far better creatures.
If neurotic Vera, cranky old Mollie, big ole Paddy, greedy little Dooley and Tiger, the outlier feline, can get along so well, it seems rather silly that the people of Starkville should be at each other’s throats and that one group won’t even recognize another’s basic rights to fair treatment.
Are we really that different?
And, even if we are, what should it matter?
Some people ask if animals go to heaven when they die.
I’m beginning to wonder if people do.
Slim Smith is a columnist and feature writer for The Dispatch. His email address is [email protected].
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