HUMAN BEINGS October 22, 2015


Hi! My name’s Gizmo. I’m the Puzzled Puppy. And this is my first post on my new blog. Let’s take a walk!

You can plan on only about two posts a week for now, because I’m currently busy chasing my tail. When I get over that, I’ll post more.

As a puppy, I just try to live a quiet, peaceful life, but sometimes it’s not easy. And when I think about how much more difficult it is for most of the other puppies in the world, first I get sad. Then, quite often, I get angry. And sometimes I wander beyond angry and get pissed off no end. Then I become a mad dog.

I see war, exploitation, racism, intolerance, and puppies just generally getting kicked and I notice that some of us are trying to help and others really don’t seem to care. You’ve got three groups: the kickers, the kickees, and ones that stay curled up all the time, even if there’s a fire in the house.

I’m just little, so there’s not much I can do, but there is something. There’s always something. So I thought I’d get off the rug and start yapping once in a while. Maybe it’s not much, but the way I look at it, if I bark enough maybe at least one little mutt might wake up.

Okay. I’d like to start by posting an essay written by the Boss. He takes care of me and we talk quite a bit. This is what he wrote:


Human beings are funny little puppies. They commonly consider themselves to be the most intelligent of all species, so much so that the genius/species appellation Homo sapiens is commonly elevated to the level of a designation separating one kingdom from another: plants, animals, and people.

            “In the day when God created man, He made him in the likeness of God.”  And no less so in other religions and myths, in high and in  popular culture, and in the hearts, minds, and psyches of most who walk erect on two feet.

            Yet these proud, highly intelligent, and prodigiously fortunate creatures seem the most to trouble themselves, day after day and hour after hour, about the intense and complex myriad of difficulties involved in putting one foot ahead of the other and drawing breath.

            They alone seem to love to destruction and to hate to the brink of extinction.  They alone analyze to distraction and inaction and act to an excess of mania and a mania of excess.

            They are the greatest of creators and the cruelest of destroyers.  They race to one laboratory to cure cancer and to another to create yet more potent weapons whose ultimate use is assured by these puppies’ constitutional inability to eschew any idea or opportunity, for better or for worse.

            They write poems to a love they are reluctant to verbalize.  They learn and internalize infinitely complex strategies designed to hide who they are and what they think and how they feel, while straining their shackles to the limits of their intellect and force to whisper crude fragments of the truth.

            They pay daily homage, century after century, to those who can perceive the simple and express it simply, using in these paeans of praise the most preciously complicated and convoluted rhetorical devices they can invent, rendering the obvious arcane and enveloping the profound in a mantle of enigma.

            They consider such expressions and small flowers and landscapes and comely faces beautiful, and drive their metal-tracked machines over the land in their quest to better what they have crushed.  They cannot leave a flower in the ground or a scent in the air; all must be plucked, pillaged, reconstituted, set straight or made convoluted, moderated, domesticated, bridled, broken, baked, broiled, tamed, harnessed, spit-shined, strip mined, or otherwise controlled by the searing forces of their aesthetic, ambition, and whim.

            They brand the earth and tattoo their bodies.  They label all things and place them in the taxonomy of their current mood.

They race away from themselves, through fire, through hoops, in circles, exhausting every cliché and all that they can invent in their search for who they are and why God or the Universe or the Powers or the Forces That Be bothered to create such an exquisitely delicate power to squander its days searching for a simple and true mirror in which to see its own reflection.


So the way I see it, the point is this: none of us is perfect – we begin by who we are, canine or Homo sapiens. Actually, even though it’s not completely logical, I kind of lump us together because we’re really family, even though most puppies tend to be simpler, quieter, and more humble. And people, like the Boss says, are pretty complex. (That’s why they need to listen to their pups.)

But what else I think is that human beings might have the imperfections the Boss describes, but they also have the intelligence and sensitivity he talks about and should be able to learn. They should understand that all puppies and all people ought to be able to expect respect, consideration, compassion, and justice from everyone else, and ought to give the same.

I said, “ought.” I know it’s not that way. But let’s work toward that goal. The big puppies in big ways and the little puppies like me a starfish at a time. I don’t know if we can do it or not. After all, I’m just a puzzled puppy.


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