When I wanted to get a good laugh, I turned on Animal Planet channel and watched a dog beauty contest. I considered all dogs to be ugly, and it was amazing to see people who loved them and actually ranked them in terms of beauty.
One weekend, I watched a Sealyham Terrier contest. All breeds of dog descend from wolves. A wolf is something I respect. Wolves have survival value; they are genuinely mysterious, and have their dignity.
A guy named Captain Edwards set about to create the Sealyham breed in Wales. He must have had something in mind. The way the fur falls appealed to him for some reason. Sealyhams are pretty good at catching varmints, so at least they have some utility. The better ones at the contest trotted along as if there was nothing really wrong with them, and it seems that if they remained focused and their trot was graceful, they got extra points. Captain Edwards shot the ones that didn’t come out according to his eugenicist conception of breeding dogs.
At a dog contest, the judges are enamored. The crowd claps. The winners get to be studs. The travesty continues.
I have tried to be empathetic. But deep down, dogs make me tremble. I’ve almost fainted when one trots up to me wagging its tail and waiting to be adored. “Don’t you know you’re a wolf?”, I want to ask. The fact is that the dog doesn’t know! I imagine the dog thinks it is pretty much a person like me. It wants to be liked, it has irrational hatreds and thinks instinctively about its property. Unlike me, it can’t read the newspaper or appreciate that what’s being thrown at its master’s porch is something that the master actually wants: the news. It probably thinks it’s a grenade. And so, it doesn’t act in a civilized way. It acts like a wolf. I hated this as a childhood paperboy.
Beauty in a wolf has to do with a strong sense of smell, good eyesight, strong sharp teeth, and enough intelligence to kill. Dogs are wolves. But the Sealyham looks like a sheep. Why has this been done?
The Sealyham is a wolf! The Sealyham, a wolf, having bitten the ankle of the paper boy, then hops on its owner’s lap, and snoozes, like a sprawling child, while the owner reads the newspaper that has been delivered, and on which there might still be a trace of blood left from the actual small boy who is back home getting taped up.
When I watched dogs on Animal Planet, I used to ask myself what planet I am on. But my daughter Lola insisted that she should get one. I told her she had to get an A in math on her report card. Math was her least favorite subject, so I was certain that I was safe. Two weeks later we were picking up a Maltese puppy at a breeder’s. Lola named the dog Elliot. Lola has long moved out of the nest. She has lived in Pittsburgh and Germany and has now married and moved on for good, but Elliot is still here. I love Elliot. He lets me pet him and snuggles with anyone who’s willing.
