Wild Ones

I was nuzzling Bela's face recently, just cooing...when I realized a rather large part of the reason nuzzling her means so much to me. Because: it shouldn't be.

A canine...curled up in my bed, looking more like a teddy bear than a beast...that allows me total control?

Yes; it means so much to me because it shouldn't be.

Avid animal lovers often acquire many types of animals in their home, though there are limitations on what we can own. Bela is your run-of-the-mill pet, 1 of the 2 most commonly cared for.
I have often pondered what it would be like to own a ferret, a monkey, a sugarglider. Things that don't seem to belong in a home. Things that seem like a bit more of a challenge. Let's take the big cats, for instance. I'd MUCH rather own a lion than a dog. Why? Because it shouldn't be.

There is certain appeal in loving something you shouldn't. My God -- it's the stuff on which books are written, and lives torn apart. It's the reason for potions and poems, polygamy and prison.

We love to tame the wild. We love to fight rationale, and forge ahead, emotions running deep, into the abyss of the uknown. It is an escapade, a ride - we're guaranteed more.

What feels better than something/or someone loving you against all odds?? Nothing. You are the exception to the rule, the straw that broke the camel's back.

The dog, though now known as 'man's best friend', certainly didn't start out that way. I occasionally feel overwhelming sympathy for them. We domesticated them, pushed their natural instincts down and demanded they be our butlers -- and bouncers.

They don't complain, instead, give back exactly what we commanded. Love unabridged. Loyalty unending.

A pitbull and its owner passed me by today. The pit was glaringly strong, muscles rippled underneath taut, taupe skin. It wasn't walking so much as kicking, one leg at a time. Pulling it's owner from the lead, desperately trying to get somewhere. Where? Sad was the leash that ran behind it, and the muzzle on its face. What was this animal meant for? It resembled a circus act more than a sidewalk convention. It pained me. 

When I got home, I did kiss Bela on the head and sing her a little song, but I also made a concerted effort the rest of the evening to allow her her space. To let her jump on me. To give her the raw meat dinner without adding flax seed oil. To try not to quelch every last ounce of [wild]life           she has in her.