An English In Kentucky


















Monday March 4th 2019Tim Candler9


    Frigid morning, your Acting Primary Caregiver has settled his charges and even though there could well be a Vole under the bed all through the house not a rug is currently being rumpled. It's probably enough to say that some of us might not yet be entirely convinced by the assumption that a domestic pet  of some kind who's taken to licking your face to check for a pulse in the early hours provides a more wholesome life experience for us old people. But it could offer a perspective on the theory behind the assertions that uphold the concept of emotional support animals. And while it's perfectly understandable why someone's emotional support canine savaged an out of control  little boy at an airport, this whole area does seem like yet one more symptom of decline in the species Homo Sapiens. Don't get me wrong, I'm right there with William Wordsworth, his "little we see in nature that is ours" and he goes on a bit about how he kind of yearned to belong to the interpretations of a more pagan creed so that he could think in terms of Proteus rising from the sea and maybe hear Triton blowing his wreathed horn. It was a troubling sense he expressed in the poem of feeling out of tune with the wider world, it was a sense of loss as much as anything. A Fatalism some might argue. And there'll be quarreling of course but it was empiricists who offered the idea there is safety in the objective which in conjunction with a pursuit of nationalism's requirement to worship material wealth at all cost that did away with the Romantics by turning them into advertising agencies, public relations firms and whatever instragram is.




   So, in my world, any sort of interpersonal relationship between us people and a fellow living being is entirely healthy, even if I have yet to grasp the Glass Bead Game emotional dependence some appear to have forged with pet Dogs, pet Budgerigars, pet Boa Constrictors and it's quite a long list. But in the interest of full disclosure I once had a very warm and loving relationship with a Stick Insect, I'd watched the little creature emerge from an egg that looked just like a seed. Stick Insect eggs, not the Praying Mantis cold tolerant egg sac, look exactly like seeds so that certain Ants will bury them, keep them safe from predators. And like Domestic Felines, Stick Insects can be very picky about what they eat. The Girl Cat won't eat Captain's Catch, but she goes crazy for Salmon Dinner. The Kitten, naturally insists on being fed the over priced Rachael Ray labeled Dry Food. I was lucky with Hannibal, he or she ate fresh Privet leaves and was always appreciative. The point is, I wouldn't dream of even thinking about the Kitten, the Girl Cat or Little Hannibal being put through the ordeal of possibly bumping into little boys in airports, simply as a service to my emotions. I used to be a little boy, I know exactly what we're like. When Hannibal met his fate, I rejected the idea that he or she was "Just a Stick Insect,"  I was caned, six of the best and had to take three cold baths every morning for a week, Little Hannibal's murderer only spent a couple of nights in the sanatorium. Fortunately back then they didn't believe in counseling, or any kind of emotional support whatsoever, otherwise today I could well be utterly incapable of visiting the Grocery Store unless accompanied by one of Hannibal's successors.


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