Geiger Counter

“Mary Poppins is ready for triage,” said a disembodied voice over the intercom, the words tumbling down the hallways and wafting through the magazine-strewn waiting room. “Mary Poppins is ready for triage.” A few minutes later, a woman rushed in with Sasquatch, who had eaten more yarn than is generally deemed healthy or safe. In her pocket was a length of the string he hadn’t consumed, an example of the gauge, texture and color, probably for medical reference purposes. People cling to hope when their pets are sick, and I’m sure a small part of her mind wondered if perhaps the veterinarian would take one look at the yarn, chuckle, and say: “Oh, your cat ate mauve yarn? Mauve yarn is fine. The more dangerous yarns are the color of strawberries and cream or Egyptian sand. You can go home now and not give us any of your money.” If you ever doubt the human capacity to love, the connections that people feel for all sorts of things unlike themselves, just stop by a 24-hour emergency veterinary clinic. I believe 3 a.m. is the best (also worst) time to be there, but you can find these tiny dramas at any time of day. If you ever think people are too tribal and don’t care about anyone who isn’t exactly like them, just take note of the woman weeping as she carries her cat through those automatic doors, or the man using his favorite jacket as a makeshift sling to help his elderly mastiff walk with less pain. Imagine all the little children saying a prayer or a poem over the fresh grave of a hamster or guinea pig that escaped its cage and ran headlong to its death in the wall or the jaws of a surprised and delighted cat. For the record, I think most animal lovers seem completely insane. They always talk about the inner emotional lives of their pets, who seem to my eyes to be merely sitting around, minds empty, waiting for food, giving off odors. But pets have been with me throughout my entire life, from the farmyards and fields I wandered in my youth, to the cities I once lived in, to the pleasant Midwestern village I now call home. And I am confident of their experiences and emotions, which I knew to be real, and can only extrapolate that all the other dogs, cats, parakeets, donkeys, ferrets and other creature who live alongside humans must also live lives rich with meaning, from moment to moment.  I assume I cannot see it in other people’s pets, but can see it in my own, because you have to really love something to really see it. It’s commonly thought that once you get to know people and see who they really are, you will accept them, perhaps even like or love them. But I wonder if the opposite is true, and we first have to love people, pets, and everything else, merely in order to see it in its true light. Perhaps it is only through the eyes of affection that we can pierce the veil and see the things that make other life forms worth loving.  I think that is the case, and that’s probably why puppies, kittens, and other baby animals are so cute. It’s a genetic adaptation that forces the world to love them right away. Because maybe love can’t be earned, but rather needs to be given right from the start, even if it is for silly, superficial reasons like cute ears or innocent eyes.  People fall in love with each other primarily because certain aesthetic signals trigger a rich cocktail of chemicals in the body, which make you feel strange and silly and “in love.” Lips, eyes, various muscles, hair, and more can trigger these things. That’s why you hear people talk about “love at first sight.” It’s widely known that these chemicals gradually recede, and that romantic love is generally extinguished within a couple months or, at most, years. Yet people remain married for decades, often the rest of their lives. Many people think this is depressing and reductive; that the fact that romantic love doesn’t last forever somehow means it isn’t real or worthwhile or good. What they fail to see is that it leads to something else. Something ever better.  The truth is that, by falling in love with other people, you get a chance to see them and their inner lives in ways you never would if you didn’t. And by the time your hormone levels return to normal, your love for them won’t have died or fled, but rather will have grown and evolved into something else, into a long-lasting bond that is buoyed by the fact that you have seen each other, stripped of all pretense and affectation, and know each other.  And so, when I get bored in the waiting room as they poke and prod my daughter’s dog, injecting her with another dog’s blood in an effort to keep her alive – which sounds insane and magical when you describe it to your daughter, like something a wizard would do in the middle ages – you can at least look around and realize the air, in addition to strange calls over the intercom and the distinct smell of disinfectant, is rich with love, and full of affection, in here and everywhere else.