Generally, I at least try to see the other side of a seemingly illogical act.
Even acts of cruelty by people who are nothing like me.
But when it came to this horrific story about a dog who was tied to the train tracks and shot before being rescued by a cop, I had a little trouble. So, I started dismantling my dome to seek any possible reasoning someone totally different from myself might do it. I even called my mother to see if she had any insight to offer as to why someone might do such an egregious thing. As I waited for her to pick up, I thought of the options. Maybe they were a psychopath who sought pleasure from the sadistic? Yeah, but they didn’t stick around to watch the dog get decimated by speeding metal, so what good would that do for lighting up the sick pleasure center of their brain? Certainly one doesn’t go home, kick out the leg elevator of their recliner, grab a beer, and think “That was a job well done! Probably!” before hanging a cellophane dart target over the T.V. screen and turning the channel to Animal Planet. Then I thought, well maybe it’s schizophrenia. You know, like in that Lars Von Trier movie? Where the fox starts issuing vague and unhelpful information?
Maybe the dog was starting to go all acid trippy on whoever did this, insisting that the oncoming train would usher her to the next life, freed from the sins of the earth, where the streets would be paved with beef and a smorgasbord of other intoxicating scents. But sometimes it takes an even simpler, more proximate view to determine the answer…
Like what my mother had to offer when we had our conversation about it today.
You see, she’s basically co-parented my sister’s dog since he was rescued. Every day my sister goes to work, she’ll take the dog out, feed him, and fulfill all his little creaturely needs. But one day, he bit her. She didn’t complain about it till I asked for details (I’m still not convinced it wasn’t ‘cause he was being vicious). It’s upsetting, too, ‘cause he started out alright albeit rambunctious. It’s just that somewhere along the way (following a bad week at a kennel), he kinda… changed.
A little.
Since then his affinity for violence, Wreckit Ralph nature, and razor gum knives have grown. And in the wake of that, both parents have been hurt. Furniture has been reduced to firewood – and then splinters. Walls have been eaten through like the Shawshank escape (had it been done with a snout instead’a spoon). What’s more, if you’re playful with my sister and he perceives it as rough, he will murder you with his mouth. Basically, we’re all terrified of him. But it’s sad, ‘cause he’s only acting based off trauma and a lack of socialization. What really needs to happen is for Cesar to come by and do whatever it is he does (I assume it involves a crucifix, clove of garlic, and a squirt gun filled with holy water). But, then again, since I’m not his parent, I have zero say. I just have to worry about the day my mom answers the door minus a hand and waves it off (metaphorically, since she won’t be able to wave literally anymore) with a “It’s alright darling! Would you like some coffee and fruit?” But I have to assume today was a less tolerable one with Cujo. Because there was no hand-waving when I brought up this tale and started listing the possibilities of why anyone would do this to a dog. “What do you think mom? Is this maybe the start of a blooming young Dahmer? Or a Kuklinski? Starting small? Working his way up?” I asked.
To which she immediately (and suspiciously eagerly) replied, “Or it could just be a dog like S*!”
Her sudden fantasies of re-imagining the sordid details with him as the main character, were almost visible via the brush strokes painted in her tone. And it troubled me. Partially because I laughed about it until self-urination became a real threat. And also ‘cause it looks like I’m a little more closely related to these “nothing like me” folk than I’d like to admit. We all have the capacity for cruelty within us. But those of us whose synapses all agree that torture and murder should be reserved for a last resort plan Z (i.e. kidnapping, assault, someone stealing the last mini shopping cart in Wegmans-goddamnyouGETBACKHERETHATSMINE!) know better than to act on that cruelty proclivity. Which is why she agreed that the best course of action is to reeducate this poor lost pup. Summon an unruly dog expert and all that. I’m sure it’ll be happening in no time. She even seemed enthused about it!
Wait… maybe too enthused.
In fact, given the context of our conversation, maybe I should call back.
Ya know, just to clarify the disparity between “training” and “trainXing.
*F’real animal abuse isn’t funny.
Summon the authorities if you see it happen.
Or me, to come perform person murder.
*Animal’s identity protected by request. Which, yes, is just as ridiculous as it sounds.