Dogs Were Rescued (And So Was I)

by Teresa J. Rhyne

  Ooh, that kind of home advocacy. They were showing up outside the homes of the research scientists and protesting their research…or their existence. Like the abortion protestors who went after the doctors personally.

  Oh.

  I looked over at Leela. She glanced sideways at me.

  When the event ended, Leela and I stood in the parking lot.

  “So, is this why you’re no longer a vegan? Too over the top?” I said.

  “No, not at all. I totally agree with all of this,” Leela said. “It was the diet part. After being a vegan for about four years, out of the blue I started intensely craving meat…and literally dreaming about it. It wasn’t an effort for me to be a vegan—even at Thanksgiving I was happy to just eat side dishes. It was an organic decision to go vegan, and when my whole body started wanting meat, it was also an organic decision to have it again. It was as if it was the best thing I had ever eaten when I ate meat again. A few weeks after having meat again I went to the doctor and my blood work showed that I was seriously anemic, so my craving meat made sense.”

  “I can honestly say, I have never craved meat. Not before turning vegan and not since,” I said.

  “Right, so your body is different. But I was also diagnosed with Hashimoto’s thyroiditis—an autoimmune thyroid issue—and I then had to avoid soy products. Without soy it limited my vegan options.”

  “Oh yeah. That would do it. I try to limit soy, but mostly try to find non-GMO soy.” I was fascinated by Leela’s experience. Still so much to learn.

  “I share the ethical concerns of vegans. But I feel I have to look for other alternatives. At first, I decided to become a vegetarian pescatarian. But then a year later I was suffering from heavy metal poisoning with super-dangerous levels of mercury and arsenic. So I then added in meat, along with fish at reduced amounts, and felt much better.”

  “It’s all so complicated! I get overwhelmed. I think that’s part of what’s got my head spinning.”

  “It’s about finding out what works for you—for your body, for your ethics. I follow the Human Genome Project and related research, and it’s clear to me that there is no ‘one size fits all’ in regard to medications, food, exercise, salt intake, and so many other things. Not all people feel better and physically benefit from a vegan diet, but all people, animals, and the planet benefit from a more natural, responsible, and humane food supply where plants and produce and animal products are concerned.”

  “Definitely.” We moved toward my car.

  “So what made you want to come to this?” Leela asked.

  “I wanted to meet some vegans. Some advocates. I guess I just wanted to find somebody to talk to about how to handle it all. I’m so horrified with everything I’m learning about the animals in our food production, and it’s just so much to deal with that I’ve worked myself up into nightmares and headaches. I was looking to see how others approach the vegan lifestyle in, I don’t know, the real world.”

  “And how’d that work out?”

  “Well, on the one hand, I admire them. I mean, a lot. Their passion. Their willingness to do something. Anything. Everything. And like you said, I agree with pretty much everything they said and everything they stand for. But I’m not sure I agree with their methods. Or that I could participate. This doesn’t seem to be my real world. I live with a nonvegan. I work with nonvegans. Almost everyone I know, with the exception of the Beagle Freedom Project people, are leather-wearing, bacon-glorifying, cheese-mongering, unapologetic carnivores who buy products without looking for a little bunny symbol. And they go to zoos! If I was doing what these folks are doing, I’d have no friends and no family.”

  “Right. This is not your tribe.”

  “My tribe. I like that.” I thought about the expression for a moment—a group who lived like I lived. Who could guide me. Help me grow. That was a tribe, right? “Yes, I need to find my tribe.”

  The trouble was I had no idea what my tribe would look like. And as my trip to India had glaringly reminded me, I was terrible in a group.

  (Much later I saw a video of this same group in a “home advocacy” protest outside a UCLA vivisector’s home. They were peaceful, quiet, and respectful, holding candles and signs and remaining silent, careful not to step on private property. They were also being verbally attacked, insulted, and threatened by the UCLA scientists and their friends, who were behaving abhorrently. The animal advocates remained still and dignified as these “scientists” hurled abuse at them. So I learned I’m not yet worthy of this tribe. I’m not yet brave or strong enough.)

  • • •

  The tribe I did belong to, and had for over twenty years, was the lawyer tribe. My law office was still what paid our bills (medical and veterinarian mostly) and still where I went Monday through Friday (unless a dog needed me) and sometimes on Saturday. I still needed to pay attention to my business.

  I went to a legal seminar, and because California lawyers are required to take a certain number of continuing education courses in ethics (stop laughing!), I went to a course called “When Good People Do Bad Things.” You would think it was a class on marketing your law practice, but it was not. The speaker was a psychologist and a lawyer, and she was discussing how scandals like Enron, WorldCom, and Lehman Brothers happened. Her focus was on how and why so many otherwise good people made such unethical choices. (She was referring to the folks down in the chain of command, not the guys at the top who don’t qualify as “good people” to begin with.) She discussed a concept called “cognitive dissonance.”

  I looked up from my notes. I’d heard this term. I’d heard it in Maximum Tolerated Dose, but I didn’t quite comprehend what it meant. It’s hard to comprehend thoroughly through tears and a blanket held up to my face. But now I could hear. I listened as she described “the presence of incongruent thoughts and actions that frequently result in excessive mental stress and discomfort.”

  Mental stress? Discomfort? Yeah. I’m listening.

  “So the mind makes adjustments. For example, a successful, otherwise honest person working his way up at a major accounting firm is asked to prepare what he knows are fraudulent financial statements. He holds two thoughts in his head. One, he is a good, ethical accountant. Two, preparing fraudulent financial statements is wrong. The action he is being asked to do is incongruent with his beliefs. This is, obviously, stressful to him. Adding to his stress, it’s his boss making the request and assuring him it’s just this one time. He can either refuse and risk the respect of his boss and quite possibly also risk his job, or he can act to reduce the cognitive dissonance that is causing his stress.”

  While she spoke, she was drawing a diagram. She drew one circle and wrote inside it “ethical accountant/high standards.” She drew a second circle and wrote in it “produces false financial statements.” Then she drew two overlapping circles and scribbled harshly, shading in the intersection of the circles. She drew an arrow and wrote “cognitive dissonance.”

  “There are three ways the dissonance can be reduced. First, he could change his action—not prepare the fraudulent statements. This takes a tremendous amount of courage. Second, he could change his belief—he is not an ethical person. Very difficult to do. Or, third, he can justify his behavior so the belief is no longer in conflict: preparing the statements as he’s being asked will save thousands and thousands of jobs within the company; by preparing the statements he is being a ‘team player’—he’s running with the big dogs while helping the little dogs. This is how business works, he tells himself. He rationalizes. Thus, he reduces the dissonance and justifies his behavior. He is, in his now-settled mind, both an ethical person and one who produced an ‘incorrect’ financial statement—for a ‘good’ reason.”

  She drew a third circle and under it wrote “rationalization.” Then she listed the ways our accountant had justified his behavior to settle his own cognitive dissonance—why good people do
bad things.

  Could people see the lightbulb illuminate above my head?

  This was my conflicting Adam and Eve versus evolution beliefs, with the childlike rationalization I’d created. This was also my brain in the last year.

  Cognitive dissonance was a much better term than restless brain syndrome.

  I drew my own three circles. Under one I wrote “I love animals.” Under the second I wrote “I eat animals” and “I buy products tested on animals.” Under the third, the one connecting the first two circles, I wrote, “I need the protein. Meat tastes good. We’re the top of the food chain. If I didn’t eat them the world would be overrun by cows. I only eat ‘humanely raised.’ I only eat free-range. And it’s only a chicken.” Then I crossed out the third circle. I wrote, “I didn’t know any better. But now I do.”

  I also now understood why I heard the kinds of responses to my vegan lifestyle that I heard from so many people, even people I knew to be animal lovers. This is why nonvegans need to mock my eating choices so as not to confront their own. This is why people who call themselves animal lovers won’t watch the documentaries about where their food comes from and what happens to the animals. This is why people who buy clothing and toys for their dogs still pay money to be “entertained” by wild animals at zoos, circuses, and marine parks without giving any thought to how their actions contribute to the captivity and abuse of the wild animal. They need to keep their own dissonance at bay. They were protecting themselves. But they were doing so at the expense of the animals.

  I was both relieved and horrified to realize this. I understood now what my journey had been about. I had let go of my rationalizations. I had changed my actions and honored my beliefs. And I would continue to do so. But there was still much work to be done, and the efforts needed in the fight for animal rights and respect for all sentient beings seemed so monumental.

  Chapter 24

  Superpowers

  Things began to get easier at home. Whether because time is the great healer or because my cognitive dissonance had settled itself, I don’t know. Perhaps it was both. Our decision to leave the dogs to work it out between themselves during part of the day was paying off. They seemed to have settled into not the love connection I had in mind, but more of a big sister/little brother relationship. Percival taunted and teased Daphne, and Daphne in return both bossed around and protected Percival. There were even signs they might one day play together, although it was also obvious that neither one had much experience in that department. Percival would bow down in play position and Daphne would bark at him. He’d grab a toy and shake it, but when Daphne latched on to the same toy, Percival would simply let go and run off to grab another toy rather than playing the tug-of-war game she had in mind. Then Daphne would drop the toy she’d stolen and return to the couch to sleep it off.

  Percival was, however, happy to play alone. He tore through the box of dog toys, disemboweling them one by one. Whenever Seamus had torn apart a toy, he removed the squeaker and the game was over—victory for Seamus, of course. Not so for Percival. He’d tear the squeak out and carry it around, launching the horn, the siren, the gurgle, the hoot, or, most annoyingly, the Christmas carols, at random moments. He’d also shred every last bit of stuffing, leaving mounds of white and green fuzz throughout our living room, the stairs, our bedroom, and—his favorite—the formal dining room. Then he’d carry the “skin” of the toy around with him—bits of brightly colored fabric that no longer resembled the moose, duck, beaver, dog, or squirrel it had once been hanging from his jowls. He even carried the pieces of carnage with him outside to do his business, still holding the toy in his mouth.

  Daphne didn’t play with toys yet, unless she was taking one away from Percival, which seemed not so much “play” as “showing who’s boss.” Yet she picked out one toy to carry around herself—a red fire hydrant. She held it in her mouth gently, never chewing or tearing it, just occasionally squeezing it enough that the odd noise we guessed was supposed to be a siren was set off. Then she’d simply use the toy as a pillow. Percival eventually settled on a favorite as well: a formerly round lamb (quite originally named “Lambie”) that had been destuffed through the top of her head but otherwise kept enough body parts to still resemble a lamb. This was his favorite toy to carry around, sleep with, and, in a regular offering to express his love, deposit on Chris’s face.

  Because while the dogs were no longer trying to kill each other, it now seemed Percival was determined to kill Chris. Death by love and obsessive devotion.

  The moment Chris came home each night, Percival raced to him and launched himself upward in a projectile rocket of affection. Chris is over six feet tall. The odds of Percival landing one of his kisses on the intended target of Chris’s face were slim, but this did not deter his zeal. He flung himself at Chris until Chris sat down on the couch and “accepted” the wild passion display that was Percival. If Daphne dared to reach the couch before Percival, we’d experience the one area where Percival was the boss. He’d use his small, wily size to dive between Chris and Daphne and then use his back paws in unison to buck Daphne aside, while his front paws held either side of Chris’s face and he gave Chris a tongue bath as if Chris had used gravy for shaving cream…and then forgot to shave it off. If either Daphne or I tried to interfere or greet Chris ourselves in any way, Percival would again fling all now twenty-three pounds of himself between us and start his gravy-consumption process over, this time with more feeling. If Chris tried to move, Percival swatted him with his paws. Daphne and I contented ourselves with our own cuddles on the couch, so while Percival pawed and licked away, Daphne groaned and tail-thumped in her own contented happiness.

  “Oww, Percival!” Chris grabbed Percival’s right paw.

  “Tell him ‘no.’ He understands ‘no.’”

  “No,” Chris said. In response, Percival licked Chris’s face and pawed him with the left paw. Then both paws together, leaving a mark on Chris’s right cheek. “Oww. No, I don’t think he does know ‘no.’”

  “Well, we haven’t been using it a lot. But perhaps it’s time. He seems obsessed with you.”

  Percival, hearing that I was trying to converse with his beloved, flopped his entire body across Chris’s neck and nibbled on his ear, the better to prevent Chris from hearing anything anyone else had to say.

  “You think?” Chris said. And Percival swatted his head. Me! Pay attention to ME! Only ME!

  I laughed. Daphne thumped her tail. “We’ve got Thunder Tail and Power Paws.”

  It was Chris’s turn to laugh—through the pain. He repeated the instantaneous nicknames in the voice of a cartoon announcer: “Thunder Tail! And Power Paws! Engage superpowers!”

  It worked. Daphne’s tail thumped harder and faster and Percival reared back to attack Chris’s face with both paws as he tried to climb onto Chris’s head—the better to enter his brain, I suppose. Chris grabbed him and lifted him back down to his lap. Percival spun around and leapt from the couch, racing to the dining room. Daphne followed him, bellowing her big sister bark: Slow down! Not in the house!

  I looked at Chris. He was laughing, and though his cheek had a dark pink scratch, he didn’t seem to mind. “So. Percival,” I said.

  “Yes?”

  “I think they’re okay. I think he can stay.”

  “You’ve always thought he could stay.”

  “I have. But now I think you think that. And really, I don’t see how you could say no to him.”

  “Dang it.”

  “It’s the beagle charm.” I smiled. Chris was nearly as susceptible to beagle charm as I was. It was just the one time he got to play the heavy to my emotional marshmallow approach.

  “It is. And yes. He’s staying.”

  Percival came tearing back into the room, Daphne in hot pursuit. From five feet away, Percival sprung over me and onto Chris’s lap. Daphne, less agile but twice as strong, leapt o
nto the couch and slammed in next to me, howling her victory in corralling the kid back to us.

  Chris looked Percival directly into those dark, almond eyes—easy to do since the dog had again placed his front power paws on each of Chris’s shoulders. “Okay, you win, Power Paws. You’re family now,” Chris said. Percival licked Chris’s face in his quick little lizard-lick way and wagged his tail. Daphne turned and looked up at me, big caramel eyes ready to work me over for whatever she wanted, but I could swear there was a little Oh seriously? I thought you were kidding with this thing in her look.

  • • •

  The next morning I awoke and went downstairs for my coffee. Daphne and Percival followed me, Percival racing ahead and Daphne staying right by my side. The peeing in the house had gotten better, but our X DAYS SINCE AN INCIDENT sign was not yet ready to be retired, so I was making an effort to get up early and get them both outside immediately. We had a sneaking suspicion it was no longer Percival who insisted on using the pee pad in the living room. He seemed to be regularly and happily going outside. Daphne, on the other hand…well, our girl had been caught midstream in the living room twice. She was probably trying to set him up.

  I made my coffee and the dogs’ breakfast and waited out the five minutes of morning aerobics while they jumped and danced and encouraged me to call “time” and put their hydrated-enough bowls of food down. I left them to their meal and returned upstairs to my office. Soon after, I was joined by Percival, who approached my chair and pawed at my leg.

  “Hi, buddy. You want up?” I sometimes picked him up and let him sit in my lap while I wrote. This time, though, he ran out of the room immediately.

  Two minutes later he was back and pawing at my leg again. I turned to pick him up, but he dashed out of the room. Then ran back to look at me still in my chair in the office and dashed out again.

  I guessed that he wanted me to follow him. Seamus had behaved similarly when he wanted me to follow him (usually to the kitchen), so I did.