If We Love The Dog So Much, Why Do We Hate Being Called A Dog
A dog is man's best friend, but only our enemies call us its name. We have many endearing words for an animal that has been walking beside us almost since we stopped crawling, but endearment is never intended when its name is applied to ourselves. It features as a loyal companion in folk stories in every nation, but rarely on the coat of arms of any. If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, then our love of the dog clearly flatters to deceive.
Or maybe our love of any animal stops short of our being tagged with its name. But then I've never come across a man who took offence at being called a tiger or woman who bridled at being likened to a swan. The former denotes courage, the latter grace, and all divinely desired human qualities. But what lofty quality does the dog represent. Ah, yes! Loyalty, a treasured term in a world torn by treachery. But that begs the question rather than answers it. The dog is undoubtedly loyal; its tail wagging, risk defying fidelity is the stuff of legend, adorning the plots of some of the world's greatest books and most enduring myths. Yet not even in these inspiring tales are the heroic virtues they extol compared to that of the dog. The heroes might walk with dogs or ultimately be thrown to them but never likened to any.
As bold as a lion, as graceful as a deer, as strong as an Ox, but as loyal as a dog?
Our females sometimes bitch. Our males can act like mad dogs. In fact the deranged dog is the most effective description of an individual who has lost all control. And that is the point. Does a dog loose it's mind, or does it discover one of its own? One not of our making and hence not to our liking when demonstrated by an animal that retains our affection only by forsaking its autonomy. So we like the dog because it serves us faithfully, but few men or women freely choose to serve others, so why should they respect anything that does.
We've dominated the world for so long we accept as given that it was created for us to dominate. Our prayer books claim it, our music celebrates it, and our leaders confirm it. But our supremacy, forged in violence and territorialism carries about as much moral legitimacy as that of the Jaguar in the jungle or the Shark in the sea. Like theirs, ours is based, like all control, on force and fear by serving us so diligently the dog reinforces the myth that what was obtained by deadly power was conferred by divine pre-ordination. The dog protects our persons at night and our conscience throughout the day. That demands our gratitude, our thanks, even our love. But since we live primarily to serve ourselves we can't respect any living thing that does to serve another.
So we love the dog for the same reason a monarch loves his subjects; for their loyalty, but like the autocrat we secretly hold them in contempt for giving it.
Or maybe our love of any animal stops short of our being tagged with its name. But then I've never come across a man who took offence at being called a tiger or woman who bridled at being likened to a swan. The former denotes courage, the latter grace, and all divinely desired human qualities. But what lofty quality does the dog represent. Ah, yes! Loyalty, a treasured term in a world torn by treachery. But that begs the question rather than answers it. The dog is undoubtedly loyal; its tail wagging, risk defying fidelity is the stuff of legend, adorning the plots of some of the world's greatest books and most enduring myths. Yet not even in these inspiring tales are the heroic virtues they extol compared to that of the dog. The heroes might walk with dogs or ultimately be thrown to them but never likened to any.
As bold as a lion, as graceful as a deer, as strong as an Ox, but as loyal as a dog?
Our females sometimes bitch. Our males can act like mad dogs. In fact the deranged dog is the most effective description of an individual who has lost all control. And that is the point. Does a dog loose it's mind, or does it discover one of its own? One not of our making and hence not to our liking when demonstrated by an animal that retains our affection only by forsaking its autonomy. So we like the dog because it serves us faithfully, but few men or women freely choose to serve others, so why should they respect anything that does.
We've dominated the world for so long we accept as given that it was created for us to dominate. Our prayer books claim it, our music celebrates it, and our leaders confirm it. But our supremacy, forged in violence and territorialism carries about as much moral legitimacy as that of the Jaguar in the jungle or the Shark in the sea. Like theirs, ours is based, like all control, on force and fear by serving us so diligently the dog reinforces the myth that what was obtained by deadly power was conferred by divine pre-ordination. The dog protects our persons at night and our conscience throughout the day. That demands our gratitude, our thanks, even our love. But since we live primarily to serve ourselves we can't respect any living thing that does to serve another.
So we love the dog for the same reason a monarch loves his subjects; for their loyalty, but like the autocrat we secretly hold them in contempt for giving it.
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