The Hancock-Henderson Quill, Inc.
While enjoying coffee together on our back porch, April and I had a conversation about the characteristics of animals. Since our experience with animals centered on pets, we landed on dogs and donkeys.
Donkeys as pets? You don’t know my best friend. Her love for living things is so immense she could make pets out of earthworms.
As I’m prone to do, I created a metaphor to explain my position. “Suppose Mr. Brown and Mr. Babe (her two donkeys) were humans,” I said. “What would that relationship look like?”
I took April’s silence as permission to proceed. Suppose I took Mr. Brown and Mr. Babe out for supper. It would go like the following.
Mr. Brown, Mr. Babe and I would sit down at a nice table in a nice restaurant. I would say something like, “Thanks for joining me for supper.”
Mr. Brown and Mr. Babe act as if they’re entitled. No gratitude or small talk. Their reply is direct and almost accusatory: “When do we eat?”
Supper would commence, and I would certainly try small talk about sports, weather, or girls (They’re both unattached males.).
They would ignore me entirely, their faces completely buried in their plates of food.
Suppose I brought up some issue bothering me, hoping they might offer advice or empathy.
Something like climate change. They might pause and look at me. But only to say, “When’s dessert?”
Once we made it through our conversation-less supper, they would stop and stare at me. Then would come the question: “When are we eating again?”
Dogs have a completely different mindset than donkeys. Take our dog, Miss Gigi, for example.
I take Miss Gigi out for supper, and she’s thrilled. I can tell by the way she wags her tail. Donkeys never do that. The meal comes, but before she eats, she stares wonder-eyed at me before gushing, “Have I told you how much I love you?”
But it’s not just at supper. Every morning when I get up, Miss Gigi is waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. Her first words? “Have I told you how much I love you?”
If I’m watching a football game on TV, she’ll snuggle up close and look at me with her big, brown eyes as if to say, “Have I told you how much I love you?” She only does this during commercials of course.
Dogs are smart like that. All Mr. Brown and Mr. Babe would care about is whether the playing field was real grass and astro turf. And if it turned out to be real grass, they would demand I take them there.
If someone who might be unfriendly approaches me, Miss Gigi is on top of that. She utters a warning: “Come any closer and you’ll pay dearly for that.” It never fails to stop the unfriendly person. Or the mail man. Or the electric meter reader guy.
It’s one of Miss Gigi’s ways of telling me how much she loves me. I remind April she’s never done that for me.
If I brought up some issue bothering me like climate change, Miss Gigi would assuredly answer with, “I don’t know what climate change is, but I’m going to love you through it. And if it ever enters our yard, I will take it apart piece by piece.”
Miss Gigi loves to explore. But even if she’s enjoying some quiet time in the pasture and I call for her, she comes running back filled with joy and her tongue hanging out. Her first words? “Have I told you how much I love you?”
Apply the same pasture scenario to Mr. Brown and Mr. Babe, and the conversation goes like this:
“Who’s that?”
“The guy who feeds us.”
“Should we go back?”
“Why? We’ve got food here. We don’t need him.”
“Good point.”
Speaking of points, I think I’ve made one: Dogs are much better pets than donkeys. Let’s keep that between you and me though. No need to let April in on this.