My family, and perhaps the world, might be better off if I was not left alone with my early-morning reflections. For example, if you can be patient, the thoughts I had this morning, after I awoke about sunrise, concerned our six-month old puppy needing to go out as part of her ongoing potty training.
For reference, Chloe Fartdog, our Cava-Poo, sleeps in a well-appointed kennel on a memory-foam mattress with snuggly toys equipped with heartbeat imitators, to keep her comfortable and lower her anxiety. So I rise and get dressed. I let her out of her kennel. I put her in a halter, which is safer than leashing to her collar. The collar can choke her if she pulls, or hurt her neck if I have to pull on her. So we use a halter. Then I gather the newest spring-loaded leash (the one that hasn’t had the cord mostly chewed through), the biodegradable poop bags, and a pocket full of all-natural treats. I walk her two blocks to the green space in our complex, designed into our neighborhood for just this purpose, and talk to her the whole time about how pleased I will be when she poops and pees like a good puppy, and I will give her a treat, and I will pick up the poop in the special bags that we bought, and I will deposit it in a special container which is lined with another deodorizing bag that we bought, all to democratize the containment of dog poop.
Then, once I have allowed her to sniff incessantly the remnants of whatever other animals have recently occupied the same space, and prevented her from eating their random droppings which could make her sick, we return to our home. I change her water so that its fresh. I scoop one-and-a-half cups of you-can’t-spend-more-for-dog-food dog food into her bowl. I don’t put in the pumpkin supplement or the browned ground beef to encourage her to eat it, like my wife does. I mean, I don’t want to spoil her. Instead, I flip open my computer to read another article about, get this, how as the “dominant species” on the planet, we humans are not living up to our responsibilities.
Dominant species? Interesting choice of words, I think. Which subservient species is following me around to pick up my poop?
Actually, I think we humans call ourselves the “dominant species” because we are the only ones that vote in a language we understand. To test this, I asked Chloe Fartdog just now: “What species do you think is the dominant species on earth?” She gave me that precious look that she always does in these conversations – head cocked, eyebrows raised, tongue out, happy-eyed, full attention. Then, she laps her lips and nuzzles my cheek as if to say, “Oh, Daddy, its you. You! You are most certainly the dominant species on the planet!” Gosh, it makes me feel good.
It’s a scam.
And I think they know it.
Take, for example, corn. You probably didn’t expect that. But however you might measure intelligence, it is probably only valid if corn’s is higher than ours. I come from the rural Midwest. It’s early August now, and it is impossible to cross a city boundary without observing corn for literally as far as the eye can see. Orderly rows, with perfect density to enhance their nutrition, and with soil treatments to minimize any intruder or parasite that might stunt their development. When the fields are too wet for healthy corn, we drain them. When fields are too dry for healthy corn, we irrigate them. Certain fields are managed precisely to optimize the genetic heritage of corn’s next generation, to ensure only the healthiest of offspring, and to lower the stress experienced by the plant during times of drought or flood. (Did you hear that? To lower the “stress” of the plant … .)
We Are Held Captive by Corn
All this service to the corn is provided by humans. I contend that in the Midwest, we humans are being held captive by corn. Our companies have been enslaved to manufacture ever-more-sophisticated equipment, chemicals, applications, and genetic concoctions to produce ever more reliable and healthy corn, year after year. And now, as if to hedge against our declining fertility, corn needs fewer and fewer humans to do it! Vicariously using humans as its instrument, corn has invented John Deere, Pioneer, and Monsanto to automate its own reproduction. Just try sitting in the cab of a new tractor or harvester, observe the technology involved – which rivals a space-launch control center or brain-surgery laboratory – and understand; the only reason this needs to exist is to make corn.
Then realize that the equipment doesn’t really need a person in the cab at all! So every year, every successive generation, we produce more and more corn with fewer and fewer people. Who’s winning that race? And then, to be truly profound, it seems like corn is being pretty nice to us. After all, the climate-controlled cabs that aren’t needed are still comfortable spots for humans; air conditioned and heated; our personal choices of music; and adjustable seats that serve the most sophisticated orthopedic needs of our species. All in all, while corn needs fewer of us, it treats those few pretty well.
Depending on where you’re from, wheat, rice, soybeans, or some other flora might be able to make similar claims of dominance, if they cared to. But as conspiratorial as they are, they remain silent on the point. It serves them well.
Pigs' Excellent Leadership Technique
In the fauna realm, if a Martian landed in my community and reported back to their spaceship on who is in charge down here, they would almost certainly have to say “pigs.” Can you imagine that? The little green men sneaking into the hog confinement center and saying to the first pig, “Take me to your leader”?
This is true, and it will take a moment. I recently visited some pigs, which is harder than it sounds. It is subject to rigorous – maybe royal (?) – protocols. To get on their schedule, I first had to get permission from the high office of people who attend to pigs. When I was granted leave to visit the pigs on a certain day and time, I first had to meet a functionary of the pig’s court somewhere remote. There, I was provided sterile booties to put on my shoes before driving to the location where the pigs were. (I think the only reason I wasn’t blind-folded was because I had to drive.) Once there, after walking through the parking area to the human entrance, I was instructed to put on another set of booties, atop the first set, and step over the threshold, one foot at a time, without landing that foot outside. Once inside, I signed a register at a reception window. I was directed down a short hallway to another threshold, where I was to remove my shoes one foot at a time, and step across that threshold without letting my stocking feet touch – and to leave my shoes and booties behind. Then, I was directed through a doorway to a shower room. There, I disrobed. I stepped into a shower that was equipped with three dispensers and a laminated card that described how to use the products to wash my body appropriately to meet the pigs. I stepped out of the shower on the other side, where I was presented with undergarments, socks, and jumpsuits that had been disinfected; with enough size choices for whoever might need them. I walked in my stocking feet into the reception area to meet my host, who would introduce me to the pigs. But not before encountering yet another threshold, where I was instructed to put disinfected boots over my socks, making certain again not to touch both sides of the threshold with my body or clothing.
Only then were we allowed to visit the pigs.
As near as I could tell, the pigs had done nothing in preparation for meeting me.
I had certain work that I was there to perform, in service of the pigs, of course, and so I did it. All in all, the pigs’ treatment of me was neither welcoming nor hostile. They seemed pretty used to being attended to. They recognize the humans they interact with are just doing their jobs, so are somewhat forgiving of any minor lapses they might witness. I didn’t experience undue criticism, and never really feared being dismissed, because I think they were aware I am conscientious. Signs of their excellent leadership technique.
In on Silently Consuming Human Labor and Intellect
If I were to represent a truly dominant species at a congress of species, I would expect to remain confidently silent about it. No need to point out the obvious. But We humans are notoriously not silent. Everything I’ve ever read on the topic speaks with authority; unquestionable self-assurance that We are the dominant species, selfishly bending nature to Our will. On the other hand, They – and by “They” I mean the cattle in Wyoming, or the chickens in Georgia, or the tea in Sri Lanka, or the tulips in Netherlands; in other words, the actual dominant species – make no mention of the topic. They stealthily consume human labor and intellect to more efficiently replicate and improve themselves, allowing Us the comforting illusion that We are in charge.
While I’ve been writing this, Chloe Fartdog has fallen asleep on the couch that we were never going to let her occupy. Nothing a vacuum and some Febreze won’t fix. I’ve interrupted her a couple times to read her some passages. She just looks at me with those patronizing eyes. I know she’s in on it. She just wags her tail appreciatively, then lays her head back down. But she doesn’t argue. She needs me on her side. She’ll need to go out again at lunchtime and before bedtime.
And someone has to pick up her poop.
Joel Lorentzen lives in Rock Island, Illinois, and publishes a column on Substack.com titled “Uncommon Sense.” Find all of his essays at JoelELorentzen.substack.com.
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