Helen Walne’s Human League
My sister-in-law has gone back to the UK. Our dogs are in recovery. So are our curtains. Bella no longer believes she is Boris Johnson (although, admittedly, there is a strong resemblance), Joey is healing from the trauma of being made to look like Freddie Mercury, and Bitten has shed at least 50kg and is now able to jump over the fence again.
We humans are still recovering.
I like my sister-in-law. However, playing host to the high priestess of anthropomorphism has left our household in tatters – literally.
Last Wednesday, I arrived home to find our garden strewn with curtains Joey had ripped from our bedroom window. A piece of fabric hung from the honeysuckle bush and a length of hem dangled from a branch.
It was as though a bunch of sailors had become shipwrecked in our yard and had decided to do their washing.
I also discovered a large tunnel worthy of a part in Prison Break beneath the bird bath. In it lay a small knitted doll and the remnants of a teddy bear. When I pointed at the hole and accused B of going to ridiculous lengths to avoid doing the washing-up, he muttered something about Boris Johnson and crazy sisters, and gave Bella a menacing look.
Before my sister-in-law crashed with us for six months – that’s 24 weeks, or 180 days, or 4 320 hours, but no one’s counting – our dogs were well adjusted. They didn’t wear clothes, they knew who was boss, they had never considered gym membership, and they lay quietly at our feet in the evenings, content to be just dogs.
The first thing my sister-in-law did was feed them Woolworths biltong. All day. And every evening she opened a tin of tuna and made “mooooonniee, moooooonie, moooonie” noises at the cat as she spooned chunks of fish into his bowl.
Then she bought the dogs toys – the doll and teddy corpses now languishing in the mud. And when it started raining one day, she said she would buy Bella and Joey raincoats and wellington boots. “The Jack Russell I walk in England has them,” she said. “I bet the foxes are wearing stilettos now, too,” I murmured.
After three months, the dogs were confused, borderline obese and acting out. On hot days, my sister-in-law dressed Joey in a sleeveless denim jacket and spent hours squealing and pointing at him.
On cold days, she took blankets off our beds and swaddled the dogs in their baskets so they looked like hurricane refugees. She also kept calling Bella Boris and referred to our macho thug of a cat as “she”.
I understand my sister-in-law’s actions. I too have suffered from bouts of anthropomorphism: I mistook my first boyfriend for a human, and when I was living in a beer can as a student, my noble friends and I released all the SPCA dogs from their cages. We ended up being scolded by a policeman who looked like a ferret.
The thing about people like my sister-in-law is that their love for animals is directly proportionate to their inability to have normal human relationships. Yes, Walt Whitman had a point when he wrote: “I think I could turn and live with the animals, they are so placid and self-contained.”
While Joey is as furry as B, he doesn’t suffer from the same anxieties, moods or disappointments. Bella is much easier to get along with than my friends. With them, I have to give a toss; with Bella, all I have to do is toss her a piece of toast. Bitten is as complicated as a toothpick. Indeed, animals are much easier to be around.
Yet while I am mildly obsessed with my pets and ensure they have the best – expensive food that may well contain gold, sun-lounger cushions as beds, a heater during winter, daily walks in the woods – I am acutely aware that they are still animals. They need consistency. They need to know their place.
Every morning, my sister-in-law would shuffle out of the guest room and deliver her lines:
Sister-in-law (very excited tone): Oh, hello! Hello! So beautiful! You are soooooooooooooo beeuweetiful! Yes, you are. Oh mooooo mooooo moooo moooo! Yes! Yes my loves!
(More shuffling)
Sister-in-law (in low, grunting voice): Mgghmm.
Guess which greeting was for the dogs and which was for us? And guess who has retracted further invitations of free accommodation? Well, it’s not the pets.
Twitter: @walnehelen