Othering

Dec 17 2019

The dogs

burrow-in under the covers,

their compact bodies

tucked into mine.

The animal heat.

The feral dreams

of strangled yelps and quivering limbs.

The gamy air,

ripe with rebreathing

in that closed dark space.

In the wild

packs of dogs sleep jumbled together

in dug-out lairs;

the bonds of blood and belonging

that make out of many

one.

I remember how the pups once slept

when they were blind and deaf

and fat from suckling;

in a soft plush pile

of fidgety bodies and random legs,

like plump brown dumplings

but with butt-holes and heads.

One of my girls

has the alluring scent

of buttered popcorn, slightly burnt.

While the other smells vaguely of earth,

summer rain

on freshly turned soil.

I'm sure I smell strongly of something,

and whatever it is

they've known it since birth;

their alpha

their mother

their source of love.

Every night, I sleep with my dogs

in our warm dark cave,

cuddling-up snugly

feeling settled and safe.

How much we have in common, man and dogs;

the unbreakable bond between us,

our wants, and needs, and desires.

The sameness of mammals,

who are, in their way

all seeking touch

belonging

love.

And our own fractious world,

where we let the smallest difference

wall us off from them.

Where we set each other apart,

sleeping in separate beds

separate rooms

separate tribes.

The othering

of our fellow man.

And then, the acceptance of dogs

who never question or doubt.

Ever since I heard the expression, I've always attributed “the narcissism of small differences” to H.L. Mencken. Apparently, it was actually Freud. But whatever the source, this tendency to xenophobia and tribalism seems inherent in man. Yet oddly, when we live in close contact with other animals – creatures who have traditionally been considered not only insentient, but unworthy – you can't help but be impressed not by the differences, but by the striking similarities; what I've distilled in the poem down to wants, and needs, and desires. So if you focus on difference, that's what you'll notice; even in your own species. And if you focus on similarity, then even across species you will be struck by what we share, how we're fundamentally made of the same stuff.

This began as a simple dog poem ...and then took a turn. I had just written the following email to a friend, and clearly the theme of “othering” had lodged itself somewhere in my subconscious. I won't include the whole correspondence, but will explain that in commenting in general on intolerance and religious difference, he had more specifically referred to Hindus in India who tend to harbour a strong revulsion to Muslim meat sellers. So he finished his email with this:

No doubt the Hindus dislike Muslims

our Hindu Guide railed on about how disgusting Muslim markets were,

as they sold meat in basically a medieval style market.

And I responded as follows:

I know we both sneer at religion:  because of its irrationality and superstition. But to sneer at it for its tendency to exacerbate difference and promote xenophobia is missing the point. This has nothing to do with religion -- that is, belief, dogma, theology -- it has to do with human nature:  our essential tribalism and need to belong. The difference you point out is an excellent example of how it is CULTURAL difference that really divides people. Here, it has to do with food (meat), which is particularly potent:  there are the smells, taboos, tradition attached to food; and there is especially the intimacy of placing something between your lips. 

You know, when the black/white divide in North America comes up, it has so much more to do with language and lifestyle than with skin colour. Even bigots stop seeing blackness when the person sounds like us and has a similar lifestyle. So as rationalists, you and I wonder how anyone could imagine that skin colour has any meaning (just as we wonder how people could go to war over different versions of a god who says murdering is a sin). But it really wasn't about skin colour at all; it was about someone who sounds and behaves differently. If you have an open personality, this difference might be exhilarating. If, like most of us, you're closed and conservative, it instead becomes threatening. From there, it isn't much of a reach to dehumanize and "other" them.

I've always found it impossible to sleep any way but alone. I need my own bed. I also need the temperature to be near freezing – literally – which is pretty much a non-starter for co-sleeping anyway. Not to mention that I retire when many people are already getting up! But despite all these idiosyncrasies, I love sleeping with my dogs. And they, being the eminently adaptable and mellow creatures they are, have no problem with my quirks. And despite the reference to strangled yelps and quivering limbs, they're actually very demur sleepers: quiet, still, accommodating.

Also, contrary to stereotype, my dogs smell great. Especially Rufus, who truly does smell of burnt popcorn. I take great pleasure burrowing my nose into her fur and inhaling deeply. Even their breath is pretty sweet. ...At least for dogs it is!

The line plump brown dumplings/ with butt-holes and heads came very easily. Because that was my nickname for Rufus when she was a baby: “my little dumpling butt-hole.” She was a fat little thing and carries her tail erect; so walking behind her you can't help but notice that cute little butt-hole staring right back at you!

There may be some eyebrows raised at my choice to end the 2nd last stanza The othering / of our fellow man, which some will regard as sexist. Originally, it was our fellow women and men, but this just didn't work as well. So I went back to the more traditional (and yes, I acknowledge, patriarchal) formulation. Those who prefer the more politically correct form are invited to read it whichever way they like.