by Chloe Hansen
I have lots of partners; there are many agreements between me and other people. But, for whatever reason, at this point in my life the most important partnership arrangements are between my pets and me. I have a dog, Mikey (Michael Montgomery in full, or just Mike as my parents prefer), and a gerbil, Sherman (Sherman is technically female, but I’m confused about his gender), and they both look at me when I talk to them. I imagine it’s rather like having children (my mother always gets very offended when I draw this comparison) – of differing ages and levels of intelligence, but children nonetheless. I feed them and discipline them, and in return they attack other dogs and chew through power chords. But always return to me – either tail between legs or without knowing they’ve done wrong – expecting me to love them, and feed them and keep them warm at night. It can be a rather one-sided relationship.
Why then, you ask, do I continue to feed and keep these creatures, trekking them from one side of town, one side of the state to the next? I’m not entirely sure. I think it has something to do with the fact that they’ve attached themselves to me. I considered giving Sherman away to some adolescent girl who would be thrilled to death and torture the poor rodent, as little girls do, when Mikey found his way into my life. I wasn’t giving Sherman the attention he needed and I didn’t think having a dog around could be very comfortable for him. But then I caught them playing one day. It seems they have a partnership arrangement themselves: Sherman chews on the bars of his cage, trying to escape while Mikey waits eagerly, shaking from nose to tail. Sherman suffered a stroke several months ago, which must have affected his cognitive abilities because it seems as though he has no idea there is a pit bull waiting for him on the other side. Even when his little nose is pushed out between the purple bars of his cage, and Mikey’s larger, wetter nose is only millimeters away on the other side of those bars, Sherman doesn’t notice a thing. Or maybe that’s just part of their agreement.
Mikey was abused in one of his previous partnerships, and as result he is one of the most fearful and obedient dogs you’ll ever see. It’s hard to stay mad at a creature that flattens himself, shakes and pisses a little whenever he’s displeased you; or one that pulls his ears back in fear whenever you say the word “fuck” or who shows his belly in apology when you accidentally step on his tail. Maybe that’s why I’ve stayed with this dog: to show him what a real home can be like, because no one else wanted him.
The pity factor is definitely part of it, but that’s not the whole story. In reality I don’t deserve the devotion of this dog. I’m not worthy and I know it. He makes me want to be a better person. By taking this dog on, I agreed to be responsible for a life other than my own; I need to prove to myself that I can be good to that life. I think that’s partly why people have children too, why people don’t end the partnerships with their offspring while they are in the helpless and annoying stage. It truly is an amazing thing to be needed by someone else. It seems like the ultimate failure to be cruel or give up on a creature that is completely dependent upon you, looks to you for everything and looks up to you in everyway.
I’ve kept my pets because they need me. Of course, they could and would need anyone else just as easily as they need me but I’ve attached myself to them as much as they have to me. I enjoy the companionship and the agreements the three of us have worked out. Ultimately though, I don’t want to fail them, more for my own pride than anything else. Every dog Mikey tries to eat and every damn cord Sherman chews through seem like personal failures to me, like I’ve let them down in some way. So I try to explain to Mikey one more time that the neighbor dogs and cats are our friends, and I do a better job ‘gerbil-proofing’ the room next time I let Sherman out. I described our relationships as rather one-sided earlier, but in reality I don’t think that’s true. These two have given me a purpose greater than myself, which is something I’ve been missing for most of my life. They look to me for everything and I’m trying my best to live up to the two of them.