I am, today, wearing one of my favourite T-shirts, which, in an occasional bout of ‘contrived eccentricity’, I had made. Sorry, don’t have a photo, but it’s simple to paint you a mental picture: white, with the word ‘Moron’, in large red-top tabloid logo-style font across the chest. (You are free to draw your own conclusion as to what this signifies.)
Recently, an actress (I think) sat on a sofa, next to an acerbic comedienne with a seemingly prosthetic face, in ‘conversation’ with an overexposed-to-the-point-of-irritancy host, and informed that she has four dogs. No, wait. Four vegetarian dogs! Yeah, that’s what I thought.
Now, humans – because choice is a privilege/burden (delete as you deem appropriate) – can opt to be vegetarian, whether for reasons of protest or taste. If you object to how meat is farmed/reared/processed, etc, fair enough. However, we have evolved as omnivores. We could obtain all our dietary needs through pills and astronaut paste, but how dull would that be? Most of us eat meat and enjoy it; however, some of us simply do not like it. But I’ve yet to encounter a dog that doesn’t like meat, or one that gives a damn – or could exert influence on – how it came to be in its bowl (or, in the case of my sister’s steroid-crazed mutt, on the table, in the bin, wherever). Those long canine teeth might be a clue.
There’s a saying that you can’t miss what you’ve never had. Ahhh, but you can’t overlook instinct. And it’s a confusing, stressful state when instinct is suppressed. Wonder whether her pets are as fit as a butcher’s dog, or as mad as a March hare?