This point is indisputable: humanity is in love with domestic animals. The strongest evidence for this claim can be found in most of our own homes. From hamsters to Great Danes, we love the animals we call our pets. And as pet owners, we are often guilty of taking that “love” to extreme degrees. We humanize our pets by giving them names like “Walter,” “Bill,” or “McCarthy.” We provide them with their own living space in the form of boxes, cages or special rooms. We give them their own plates, sometimes monogrammed with their names, so that we humans, I guess, don’t get confused and accidentally eat out of poor “Pooky’s” private bowl. They go on vacations and to doctor’s appointments where friendly nurses give them the added dignity of our family names (“The doctor will see Midnight Rogers now.” Midnight Rogers? Really?). They even have their own furniture: custom beds, sofas, and chairs to suit their particular sizes and sleeping habits. And if they don’t have their own beds, cloaks, and chairs, they confiscate the beds, cloaks, and chairs of the humans, which we willingly seem to abdicate to them.

Well, by now you’re probably sensing a growing tone of resentment in my prose. If true. I am a reluctant pet owner who has grudgingly given in to multiple pet acquisitions by the family over the years. He was against taking the first goldfish, only to be rebuffed on that and all subsequent purchases of reptiles, rodents, cats and dogs.

Now that doesn’t mean I don’t love animals. Rather, I grew up with the same variety of cats and dogs in our home as most people. I can appreciate the company of a friendly dog ​​or cat as much as any other human being. But it’s the three “P’s” of pet ownership that get me down: poop, pee, and vomit. Perpetual duty of doodie seems like a pretty high price to pay for a wagging tail and a vibrant game of “fetch.” But obviously, millions continue to be undeterred by that inconvenience.

animal-magnetism

Of course, the world’s infatuation with pets has never been limited to mere companionship. Dogs have been especially noted for their extraordinary civic contributions to society, serving the needs of the blind and disabled, while contributing to search and rescue and law enforcement needs. And how many times did Lassie rescue young Timmy from some terrible danger between 1956 and 1973? Every week, for my childhood memories. Also, let’s not forget his contribution to science. Rats, cats, and dogs have assumed most of the functions as test subjects for an untold number of experiments. We have made them the guinea pigs in the search for answers to almost every significant question (to the relief of the guinea pigs, I might add).

The field of social sciences in particular also owes a great debt to these animals. In the early 1900s, the study of how the brain works (ie psychology) began to merge with the study of how the body works (ie physiology) to create the field of behaviorism. Scientists were trying to understand the connection between the mind and the body, the cause and effect, of what makes us behave the way we do, both for better and for worse. Some of the most notable research findings to date have come from groundbreaking animal studies by Pavlov, whose dogs helped us discover “behavioral conditioning,” and by Thorndike, whose cats helped establish the “law of effect.” “. BF Skinner’s rat models helped test the theory that “positive reinforcement” is superior to “punishment” when it comes to modifying behavior. In the end, our friends in the animal kingdom helped prove that living things learn better, respond better, and are more motivated by positive treatment versus coercive or punitive treatment. And for that, employees, students, athletes, and really all of us, have a lot to be thankful for.

pet conspiracy

As someone who is trying to live up to the claim that the good guys finish first, I also have the animal world to thank. And so the least he could do was comply with the repeated requests for a new pet. Of course, that posture quickly created a house inhabited by a lizard, a dog, two cats, and two rats. That’s right, rats.

How it got this far, I’m not quite sure. The answer lies somewhere between parental permissiveness and pure mathematics; that is, to be outnumbered four to one. Or more precisely, three children and a wife for one.

But throughout the ups and downs of pet ownership I’ve always been fascinated by one surprising question: How come our rats, cats, and dogs somehow live in perfectly harmonious coexistence in our home? I mean, these guys are supposed to be mortal enemies, right? All the scientific knowledge I have about animals tells me that these species are natural adversaries to each other. Come on, you read A fly passed by. You know who was chasing who. And Tom and Jerry made each other’s lives a living hell, while Sylvester the cat was mercilessly hunted by the bulldog from the local junkyard. Facts are facts, man.

But not in our house. A miracle of nature is happening. Our pets are fully committed to their own form of relaxation, happy to live in peace with their archenemies. Henry Kissinger would be proud. And there’s really only one possible explanation for this aberration from nature’s true course: Our pets know how good they have it, and they’ve conspired not to mess it up by biting their housemates’ heads.

At this point, I can tell you that Thorndike, Skinner, and Pavlov would have had no use for these particular cats, rats, and dogs as test subjects, as they have been spoiled beyond hope of recovery. Our highly domesticated rats would have ruined Skinner’s experiments by rejecting the allure of plain ordinary cheese, while awaiting the offering of their customary precisely cut vegetable cornucopia whose presentation would impress Martha Stewart. Our cats would never have gotten into Thorndike’s experimental box maze, opting instead for the luxury of his multi-tiered, carpeted attic cage. And as for the family dog, Pudge, our precious Papillion, let’s just say my wife has anointed her queen of our home for all eternity, at the expense of everyone and everything else. The modern world is very lucky that the manipulative and pampered Pudge was not part of Dr. Pavlov’s experiments in the early 20th century. Had it been so, I’m afraid the famous quote would not be “Pavlov’s Dogs”, but rather “Pudge’s Humans”. Fortunately, most scientists have tended to use normal laboratory animals for their experiments to control consistency and avoid the scientific anomaly of a rat, cat, or dog with a bad attitude.

Either way, I really can’t fight it. They helped prove that the good guys finish first. And after all, I’m only human.