14 April 2007


Capybara is a species of fish, according to the Roman Catholic Church. It's semi-aquatic, you see; provided it was regarded as a fish, then it was permissible to eat during lent. A reasonable proposition, wouldn't you say?

So, this week's feeble excuse for neglecting my humble bloguette is that one has been on a workshop to study animal behaviour. Don't ask why, gentle reader; as the aforementioned example illustrates, the repeated use of reason will only lead you astray.

When most animals aren't sleeping, they most devote their time to foraging, socialising and mating... shopping and fucking, in other words. A week's observation has helped one to understand certain human behaviours, although one's opinion of humankind has deteoriated in direct proportion to one's insight; our society demonstrates a greater degree of injustice, violence and inequality than the social units of all primates.

Like most zoological gardens, a no-contact policy operates for all staff, on the basis that such animals would never be touched or handled in the wild. On first consideration, that appears to be a reasonable proposition... until one considers the obvious fact that these animals are not in the wild. A number of studies in recent times have demonstrated that particular animals in captivity, who by necessity must become accustomed to aural and visual contact with humankind, adapt more easily to their changed circumstances if they experience a little handling; even five minutes a day for the duration of a week made a difference. Reading this, a no-contact policy struck me as being most cruel indeed, the equivalent expecting a human who has always lived in a country village to adapt to a foreign city as if by magic, continuing to make the same choices and demonstrate the same behaviours, despite this tremendous upheaval.

Yet it appears that a fictitous premise is what the majority of animal conservationist still prefers; just pretend it's not really happening, as it were. Our ability to reason directs us to the strangest of paths, convinced we're heading in the right direction, while our head remains stuck firmly in the clouds.


Cap'n Dyke said...

Me Enchantin' Ms. Qrisp, as usual ye captivate me with yer wisdom. It be me experience when dealin' with th'lords an' ladies o'nature (such be th'nature o' me day-job, please excuse th'pun)that kind words an' touches - even a bit o'singin', melts their lil' animalistic eyes an' souls like butta.

A query for ye: Do ye ever wonder iffin they look up at us an' thank th'stars that they're not furless?

Th'acuity o' yer observations impress me horribly, Me Dear.

As always, delighted t'read ye,

Th' Cap'n

Ms C Qrisp said...

Dearest Cap'n Dyke,
A delight to receive your calling card and exchange ideas with someone a person who knows when it is appropriate to use a word like acuity.

In my experience, only dogs look up at us, while cats look down upon us; only a pig looks at you as an equal. Certainly one agrees that all creatures are inclined to thank the celestial bodies that they were not condemned to be human beings.

One must confess that a bit of singing has the effect of driving the lords and ladies of nature to the faraway hills... a useful talent, often deployed in the shower when a hungover one night stand, having served his purpose, appears to have forgotten where the front door is located.

As always, delighted to be read,