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Tuesday January 13, 2009 Edition
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From Where I Lie: Olive, My Teacher, My Friend

Tuesday January 13, 2009

By Larry Johnson

   Of all my friends, Olive is the shortest, has the longest ears, saddest eyes and is by far the most philosophical. To Olive, who is actually an eight-year-old Basset Hound, life is a banquet of potential opportunities and failure of any sort is “Ultimately Irrelevant.”

     An existential Basset Hound may not be all that unusual in New York City or Paris, but in Vermont Olive has cornered the market on detachment, sanguine opportunism and last, but not least, a sense that the world is either a very large Milk Bone or a saucy cat perpetually up a tree.

     Whether it is a Milk Bone or a saucy cat, Olive has put the Present Moment and its opportunities, into the proper philosophical construct. To climb a tree after a cat is not within Olive’s capabilities. Therefore she has relinquished any desires for aerial combat with the feline species. This notwithstanding, it is still within her propensity as a canine to make the life of a pussycat as interesting as possible. Let the tree-climbing kitty descend and Olive will exercise her genetic propensity and will also exercise and exorcise said pussycat.

     I have known Olive for most of her life and I have known her mistress far longer. Alex is the kind of mistress I would desire if reincarnation were positively a reality, and if I were forced to choose what kind of creature I wished to come back as: most specifically a dog.  The relationship between Olive and Alex is such that it has made a believer out of me that nurture is far more important than nature. What I mean by this, of course, is that genetics may be of some relevance within a particular species but interspecies relationships are more dependent upon personality traits than genetics.

     It is my opinion that Alex and Olive have “cloned” personality traits, and it is also my opnion that this is a result of Olive being socialized and “groomed” by Alex who is, after all, an existentialist human being who believes that most things that happen to us are “ultimately irrelevant.”

    “ Ultimately irrelevant,” however, does not mean that the present reality is without some kind of tangibibility. Alex, and Olive by extension, both enjoy the pleasures of the mind and the flesh. I have noticed, on many occasions, that Olive has a near perpetual smile on her face, especially when she is chomping Milk Bones or when she is being taken for a walk. I have noticed that Alex has the same look on her face whenever she is chomping a pizza or drinking a glass of Chardonnay. It is the same look, different species.

     Existentialism is the philosophical conviction that whatever happens to us is the result of our own determination. Either we learn to accept our destiny as a product of our own conditioning or we see the world ultimately as a result of an unfriendly universe. This puts the ball back onto our side of the court. Either we manage our lives or they are managed for us.

     I may be projecting my own human intellectual frailties onto Olive, who is a member, I believe, of a superior species, but from all outward appearances Olive is enjoying life as much, if not more than, most members of my own species are capable of. How do I know this you may ask?

     Olive has been on numerous hikes and cross-country skiing expeditions with Alex, myself, and other participants, and, for most of these adventures, has stayed close by. But on occasion, whenever the trip has neared its end, Olive has opted to disappear into the scenery, resulting in a search and rescue effort that has, on occasion, taken hours. Now what is peculiar about this disappearing act is the fact that she never becomes invisible until the trip is nearly over. I believe this is a desire to extend what is pleasurable to her, at the expense of the rest of us. Ultimately she is always found, safe and sound, and we are always so happy to see her that she is never punished.  

     Olive’s self-indulgences have extended to more domestic areas of her existence. She is, it would seem, quite content to be left alone in the house for hours at a time. Occasionally, if she is left alone too long, she will wait until her mistress arrives home and then she will pee on the carpet as a mild form of protest. Most of the time, however, Olive, I believe, enjoys a solitary respite from everyone. Left alone, with no one to monitor her activities, she will climb up onto the kitchen table and lie there, impervious to whatever dishes, magazines or papers that may be under her.

     There is, I believe, much to be learned from other animals. Cats are capable of hedonism that makes our own selfish indulgences pale by comparison, but it takes a smart dog to bridge the egoistic differences between human and canine. Olive, I sincerely believe, has done this with great finesse.              

 


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