So, who is poisoning our pets?

Somebody’s poisoning all the kitties and puppies of North America!

Nobody seems to know how rat-poison ended up in the mix of a particular source of pet food, but there it is. Was it a conspiracy by some animal hater? Was it an animal-rights activist gone mad – I mean, the lunatic fringe in that realm does some pretty bizarre stuff – on a quest to make us give up our obsession with captive critters? Was it just an accident? How do you accidentally dump rat poison into a drum of entrails and porcine anuses? The question goes begging.

At a personal level, I love and cherish animals, and I am sorry about the tainted pet food and have sympathy for those who have lost their pets. As I say, I love animals, and it always makes me happy to see dogs out on ‘walkies’ on the street and in the parks. It makes me even happier to see owners picking up after those pups. I have had three dogs in my life. The first was when I was a kid. He was a shepherd-collie cross and was a charming bum. We got him as a stray and he loved just everybody. Problem was, even after we began to provide room-and-board for him, he still missed the street and eventually wandered off. Later I had a border collie. His name was Murphy and he had an IQ of about 170. I suspect he could talk, but he just didn’t ‘choose’ to. He died in 1987 and I miss him to this day. My most recent dog, Simon (who went away with a collapsed marriage over a decade ago) was a very beautiful Tibetan Terrier. He was friendly and had an IQ of about, oh, a clump of sod. He was just a lovely dumb blonde.

I’ve never been as much of a cat person, I never thought, but it seems I’ve always had a cat. Right now I have Griffin. He’s about 38, I think. I got him from a shelter over a decade ago, during one of my bachelor stints. He was a big old castrated tomcat, and I thought the metaphor fit at the time. Anyway, I love him very much and can see him asleep over on the corner of the sofa. He sleeps about 23 ¾ hours a day. Otherwise he’s eating. I like him, and he likes me. I also had the late, great Stumpy of whom I wrote on the occasion of her sad and premature death. There have been others felines, but they are too numerous to mention.

Of course, we pamper our pets outrageously. Young females of certain prominence are given to making accessories out of their Pomeranians and Chihuahuas, and pack them around in handbags. Odd behaviour. “I won’t bother with panties, but I’ve got to take my dog along with me.”

Veterinarians, meanwhile, are the new moneyed class, and for any kid who wants to put a ‘Dr.’ before his or her name should go and be a vet. Screw an ER stint with real people when you can charge 350 times as much for a therapeutic procedure involving hemorrhoids on a Labrador Retriever.

We also feed them outrageously costly foodstuffs, buy them comfy little beds, get them groomed, get their nails clipped and manicured and push those %$#&* street people out of the way while we take Beauregard for his jaunt in the park.

An older friend of mine, and my favourite pool-shooting partner, said how when he was growing up in the Depression, all their dogs ever got was table scraps, “… and there weren’t many of those back then.” I asked him what happened if a dog or cat got sick.

“They died. Nobody would have spent money on a vet. Your cow or horse you took to the vet. You needed them. Dogs just died and you got another one. And, take a cat to the vet? Don’t make me laugh.”

Well, I can’t be quite so callous about it, but I do have strict limits as to what I’ll pay. If the vet is seeking the equivalent of the GDP of an emirate for a therapeutic procedure, I pass, knowing the shelter is chock-a-block with unwanted cats. The vet will look at me coldly and mutter “heartless cheapskate bastard,” under her breath, but my conscience is clear. She’ll just have to stick with that ’05 BMW for another year.