What is it about pets that even the name itself takes away all the negative and replaces it with an image of domestic bliss? Pet, to stroke, to love, to care for; that last part seems sometimes to be neverending. To care for. Everyday, sweep the hair, fill the bowls, scoop the poop, pet and soothe. Sometimes it seems too much. Never enough time anyway, add on top of it the demands of each individual animal and it seems not worth it. What do we get in return? Companionship, ok. Affection, sometimes.
Our neighbor's dog died this week. Choked to death. The pukey feeling in my stomach precedes the hurt of my heart. How awful to watch your dog die. Then, curiosity, "...knew he had died when his tongue rolled out" the morbidity of realizing the certainty. Dead.
The smell of the litterbox is death. The house is strewn with the remnants of our animals, reminders that we are not the only ones living here. Sometimes I wonder what it would look like to just not clean up after them. Would we bury ourselves in hair, dander, feces? We wouldn't be able to live with ourselves this way.
So, scoop and pet and placate. Need fresh water from the tap and not the bowl? Here, let me get that for you. Want to go out again even though we just went 5 minutes ago? Sure, let's go. What, you're stressed out because of a), b) or c)? Let me find the solution.
It can be exhausting to pet. It is a verb, not a noun. It requires constant attention and affection. Affection can be grueling some days. But what is the alternative? Death. Nonexistence. No cohabitation. Sounds lonely. Loneliness is much more grueling.
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