June 18, 2010; Stupid People and Dumb Animals

For two weeks we had been avoiding the obvious. For two weeks, whenever it came up in conversation between the Boys or was on TV, we had said nothing. But finally, as he stared at his computer screen (doing nothing) and I sat on the ottoman next to him (doing nothing...not even sleeping), I said, "It's just a sad thing."

"That it is," he muttered and turned from his screen to look at me.

The story: about two weeks ago, near here, a mother left her 21-day-old baby in its baby-carrier, on the floor. She then went out to have a smoke forgetting that there were huskies in the house. Need I continue? It was on all the front pages and discussed in horrified tones by newscasters who couldn't hide their delight that they had something so deliciously awful to report. The upshot is that the mother (17-years-old by the way) was charged with manslaughter. It's all such stupid, human, stuff. But I was kind with Skeeter and said, "Look, huskies are not the brain trust of the dog world."

Not knowing what else to say, he offered lamely, "What about the Iditarod?"

"Well, think of that as the Special Olympics for dogs. Basically, any dog that gladly drags around humans is clearly a halfwit. Have you ever tried to talk to one of those guys?"

"No, you?"

"They're sexy so, of course, yes. But their eyes—lovely as they are—are vacant and they drool when they talk. They also pronounce 'huskie' 'huckie.'"

"Problem with sibilants?"

"Problem with syllables. Let's just say this: you don't leave a baby on the floor near them. As a matter of fact, you don't do that near any dog who's slightly slow. Babies always smell like one thing: food. Shit, vomit and urine is an odor combination that, to us, is almost snatchlike...or, in your case, dicklike."

"Shut-up," he said but I could tell he was thinking about this and that the whole business bothered him. He was even looking at me differently and my relationship to kids on the street (and, let this be said again, I do not like kids though I tolerate them).

"Stupid people, dumb animals," I said, "tragic all around. I'll tell you this, frankly: the story breaks my heart."

"Mine too," Skeeter said. "A reminder life can be shit."

"Indeed. But also another proof that when it comes to life—the concept, the energy, the sacredness of it, if you will—people are profoundly self-centred. You only have to watch the news. Jesus! Birds are flying, noisy rodents, as far as I'm concerned, but those fucking pictures from the Gulf of Mexico! Oh...My...God!"

"You're preaching to the choir," he said.

"Why do people all want cars?" I asked.

"'Cause, mostly, they're fat and lazy."

"Whoa, Saint Skeeter! How about that birthday present Boo bought you!"

"The iPad?"

"Yeah. Aren't there nameless, faceless, little yellow people killing themselves over the work conditions at the factory where they make them?"

"Er...touché."

"Humans," I concluded, "are basically assholes. Accept that and we can move on."

"Well, not all of us. What about that Mounty in Alberta who saved the newborn porcupine—"

"—after he killed the mother with his car."

"Touché," he said.

"Indeed."