When they say they love animals, most people mean they love domestic pets. In other words, they love animals they can own.
I’ve always put myself on a higher plane than these pseudo animal lovers. I’ve never wanted to own a watered down, domestic lap warmer. My idea of animal loving is catching a glimpse of a wild creature in its habitat. I like to imagine that if I had a pet it would be a wild one: a fox maybe, or falcon.
Which is why I was somewhat dismayed -- and not a little humbled -- recently to find myself in possession of a dog, a Hurricane Harvey refugee, a black and white heeler mutt, Sadie. I thought I had a small heart for domestic pets, but I was mistaken, evidently. Sadie has nuzzled her way into my heart.
Mornings nowadays you’ll find me running, or walking, with this semi-domestic creature, who now seems completely devoted. Why? Who knows? Sadie had not read my resume, evidently. She loves me despite my bad attitude.
Loves? I’m not naïve. I know I can be replaced. I had to rename her. Sadie is too ladylike a name. This dog is afraid of geese, she revels in dead things, and her other bad habit is unmentionable.
She gets bored of fetch after about three goes. She has a little scrim of white above her lip that looks like a milk moustache. So cute. What did I do to deserve this? This dog. Shady.
I’m Chris Fink, and that’s my perspective.
