As any of you who have frequented my little corner of the interwebs knows, I am a fan of dogs. I would go so far as to say that in the loyalty or “happy to see ya” department, they are more reliable and less apt to disappoint than nine out of ten people who you will come across during the course of an average lifespan. I would go even further in saying that a persons like or dislike of dogs in general will tell you all you need to know regarding their general character and trustworthiness. If, when a dog approaches tail wagging your first reaction is to turn away and state that dogs stink and you don’t want the smell rubbing off on your Dockers, you and I have a long way to go before I will trust you with anything like an introductory handshake or my first name.
This is not to say that I am becoming one of those obsessive compulsive types who prefer canine company over human companionship, until one day the local constabulary acting on the tip of a neighbor complaining of an unusual odor on the wind, kicks in the door of a urine soaked single wide to find my half consumed body amid a pack of mangy semi-feral mutts. I like people just fine. It’s just that in the realm of pet-dom, a dog is infinitely superior to that descendent of jungle felines that occupies second position in the panoply of animal companions available to 21st century Americans, and I am not a bit shy or hesitant in stating as much.
Expanding on the above general observation of the cat as number two on this list of preferred non-human companions, I fail utterly to understand how a ranking this high came to pass absent a propaganda campaign equal in nature to that employed by the Nazi’s, Soviet’s, and Chinese Communists combined…or maybe Al Gore and that movie he made. All things being equal, just about anything that provides some companionship including that seventies novelty “The Pet Rock” rank higher than the average cat in my book, as I can be fairly certain that when my back is turned the rock is probably not going to shit in my fireplace or potted plants, chew through the expensive audio cords of my hi-fi system, or stealthily place its feet on the control, alt, delete keys of my computer keyboard when I momentarily turn away during the final painstaking edit of what I think is a particularly well reasoned and thought out blog post. The only other creature I can imagine being able to consistently pull off such a feat would be an arachnid of some sort dropping from the ceiling and the last I checked the local humane society wasn’t offering twelve and a half pound spiders for adoption. Although they certainly would be preferred as I doubt they would possess the interest or the inclination in pulling off any of the many infuriating acts performed by cats.
Any animal requiring an indoor artificial outdoor environment to relive itself in rather than simply using the god damn dog door and shitting in the woods, has not earned the right to sleep at the foot of my bed as a pet in good standing and should just permanently stay the hell outside where nature obviously intended.