Support H abitat for H um anity
Pet peeves
Birds of a feather flock together, and a family full of
animal lovers can easlity turn a house into a zoo
y life of late has been going to the
dogs. And the birds, and the frogs. It’s
those kids again.
There’s this whole Technicolor
image that we, the hapless parents, feel we
have to create. Some parents think, “Co-op
loft in the city with Pampers and take-out.”
Others think, “Vegan-utopian commune in
the country complete with crèche.”
The image is a conglomeration gleaned
from television, movies, memories,
when buying or selling your home.
With every transaction, we send a donation in our client's name to
Habitat for Humanity, building affordable housing for low-income families.
CYNTHIA TODD
had to belly up to the bar and find a substitute.
Our daughter, meanwhile, doesn’t have any
pets of her own and was making me feel guilty
with her innocent glances of unselfish interest
in her brother’s quest. She happily checked
out iguanas, waited patiently during the
specifics regarding bearded dragons, and
enthused over the coloration of the leopard
gecko he eventually acquired.
She also swooned over the rats three aisles
down, which was a problem. Though the wife
• 23 years experience in real estate sales
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B E
DEMCTIER books—those things that fantasies
are made of and the American
Dream feeds hungrily upon. Picket fences, cot
ton sheets drying in the sun, cookies in the
oven and the family dog bounding out to meet
you as you come up the walk. It’s that dog
most of all that parents tend to glom onto.
My wife, mind you, could happily do with
out the mess, the noise, the fuss and the
tremendous expense. She is not an animal per
son. 1 find this unnatural but forgive her
because she is my one true love. Besides, when
she so eloquently persuaded me to get into the
baby making business, she had to know there
were animals on the way as well. (And how!)
During a recent self-imposed Internet exile
to study the state of gender in society, I kept
straying to the pet Web pages. I found myself
at Internet sites featuring lizards rather than
lesbians and cockatiels rather than cross
dressers. When I should have been reading
Leslie Feinberg, I was reading about bulk load
ing crickets.
This whole new pet deal came about
because our son’s rabbit passed away. There
was a void to be filled. The dog, the newt, the
two frogs, my two canaries and the finches
were simply not enough.
In a mad moment I promised a garter
snake—despite my native dislike for pets that
devour other live animals. I thought this
would encourage his budding urge toward her
petology and besides, I have fond memories of
wandering around barefoot with snakes
wrapped around me, scaring the pants off peo
ple.
I told him I’d check it out, only to discover
that there are dozens of Web sites devoted to
the care and feeding of garter snakes (and
their reptilian brethren), and that maintaining
them involves copious amounts of earth
worms and fresh, struggling fish. Bag that idea.
But having promised a cold-blooded creature, I
and I agreed that it’s certainly her turn in the
pet department, there is no way we’d get any
thing rodent. My wife is majorly phobic.
These are the times when I feel that those
three years of hard labor at the pet store were
part of a bigger picture. Little did I know when
I was sucking down those Tabs, cleaning cages
at sunup straight from a night of partying,
earning a few bucks for my ticket out of
Dodge, really I was apprenticing for my life
career as a mom—married to a woman who
couldn’t pick up doggie do to save her life.
Luckily I’ve always been an animal person, or
else I’d never have been able to deal with all
those budgies flying through my hair.
Our children are also animal people. Our
son is a scientific animal person. He’s way into
the food chain concept. He loves animals,
preferably wild animals. He wants to study
them, he wants to own them, he wants to cre
ate new species. Sometimes he scares me.
Our daughter, in the stereotypical gender
split, is also an animal lover, but a sentimental
one. She can relate to geckos as well as the
next guy, but instead of being amazed by its
array of spots, she’s more likely to tell you its
innermost thoughts. She’s the kind of girl who
talks to dogs. At length. So we knew she was
ready for a pet of her own.
Which took me back to the Internet. July
and half of August seem a blur of breeders,
animal FAQ’s and care instructions. And the
sound of dollars disappearing faster than my
wife can earn them. And I have to hand it to
her. Despite her inherent desire to live animal-
free, she has made nary a murmur about
expense. She loves our kids. She’s mustered up
enthusiasm for the gecko and its naturalistic
environment, and she’s growing genuinely
fond of the cockatiel our daughter ended up
with. She’s actually been heard to say, “I love
that dog.”
Just don’t ask her to pick up the poop.
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