We had a visitor to the office last week, of the four-legged kind. A three-month-old Havanese, to be exact. A puppy so small it would fit, with some prodding, into my trouser pocket. Not, you understand, that I *want* a three month old puppy in my pants, but well, it was within the realm of possibility and that's what counts.
Inevitably, everyone who saw the cute little bundle of furry, frolicking fun, gushed like a blown water main. The air was thick with "ooh"ing and "ahhh"ing and "ooogie-woogie-ooogie" sounds. Those that know me will understand, I'm sure, the level of suffering this induced. Not that I don't like dogs, or indeed any animals, it's just that I don't *like* them. Pets, for me, are like coffee table books. Some homes have them, some don't. Personally, I prefer coffee table books to pets since the former rarely stuff their heads into my crotch and pee on the carpet, but hey, if that's what you're looking for, more power to you. Incidentally, if *you* want to stuff your head into my crotch, please apply in writing, in *advance.*
All the wild adulation and feverish petting got me wondering what on earth was going on. I mean, the reaction was so strong it was clear people weren't just expressing a general level of interest but something more fundamental. The behavior looked like the kind of compulsive, limbic longing that you see glimpsed in the eyes of fourteen your old boys at topless beaches, or middle aged executives at a Ferrari showroom.
Now people don't go quite so crazy when they see, say, a hundred and fifty pound Doberman, so I guess the smallness, cuteness, generally plain old 'puppiness' of the animal has to be a big factor. Kind of like the difference in reaction one sees when you introduce your new born baby as compared to say, your fifty year old tax accountant.
I suppose it doesn't take a genius to see the connection either. As mammals, particularly ones with children who require a *lot* of post-partum rearing, we wouldn't last long as a species if we didn't have a very powerful built in attraction to kids. And no, I mean the human kind, not the goats. But you see, the reaction to this dog seemed to me even stronger than the reaction I've seen to babies. I guess part of it comes from the fact that the puppy responds back, jumping and sniffing and generally looking interested in you in a way that new born babies just can't master.
So, what you get is an instant and most importantly, *reinforced* stimulation of the old parenting instinct. Heck, there's not even the issue that it's a human baby and the parents will be watching like hawks in case you infect their youngest with some horrid finger-borne bacterial agent. (Don't know what I'm talking about? Try letting someone else's new born nibble your pinky and you'll find out.) It is, in short, the same level of consequence free, synthesized and refined excitement that the porn industry has been pumping out (no pun intended) for years.
Want to excite that reptile brain without having to deal with any of the annoying upper layers of gray stuff? Go rent Busty Babes From Baha, or something equally edifying. Want to stroke that parental urge to a fevered climax? Play with a puppy. It's all the same. Nothing wrong with it, as long as that's what you want. Maybe some enterprising individual will launch a web site where you can sit in the comfort of your own home and view hours of imported Dutch puppy videos. I look forward to the day when the emails start arriving...
"Hi, my name is Candy and I'm a beautiful German shepherd puppy. Come and watch me and my friends playing with our favorite toys."
Right.
Which kind of brings me back to my original point about Havanese and trouser pockets, although frankly, I don't think there's room in there, what with all the inflatable ferrets.