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A
few weeks back I wrote an article about a grocery chain refusing to sell live
lobsters as they were under pressure from PETA to stop this' barbaric' practice.
Seems PETA takes the position that killing a lobster is 'inhuman' and to be avoided
at all costs.
I think their argument goes along the line that lobsters
(also known as roaches of the sea) certainly feel pain and should be spared the
brutality of boiling them in hot water. I made the point that everything we eat
was alive at one pint in time. I'm sorry to report that all of those tuna fish
sandwiches and hamburgers are the result of some animal passing on to the big
pasture in the sky. As they say about bacon and eggs, the pig is committed but
the chicken is only involved.
I proposed that if we were left to eat
only the things that had no feeling, I think that left us with nothing but rocks.
As a result of my insensitivity, I received a number of e-mails from
kind folks such as this lady:
"I am shocked by your insensitivity and
barbarianism. I am not associated with PETA, but the suggestion of eating family
pets has crossed the line. I happen to have a pet rock (she has been with our
family for about 30 years now and is still going strong, no signs of needing to
send her out to pasture or fill someone's rock burger). I am offended at your
article suggesting that my beloved pet rock doesn't have feelings. She is a dear
pet that is extremely well behaved with a mellow personality and does not deserve
to be on any menu."
I had completely forgotten about pet rocks. I have
not thought about them for years and guess I had just figured they had all died
out by now, but apparently not. Please forgive me if I have offended you by my
oversight. I can only plead ignorance.
I wrote the lady making the above
mentioned comment and apologized to her if I had offended her. I told her that
I had also been contacted by some folks who had pet trees and pet peeves. I have
yet to find out exactly what a pet peeve is, but a lot of people must have them
since I heard from a number of folks who started off by telling me that 'one of
my pet peeves' is such and such. I'm not certain I quite understand their meaning,
so I'll have to do some more research on this one and get back to you at a later
date.
Since my article appeared some people wrote me to tell me that
they agreed with me on the feelings of carrots and flowers. One woman in Oklahoma
wrote and said that she does her housework in the nude and sings to her flowers
as she cleans. She went on to say that they appear to listen to her since they
turn their little heads toward the sound. It made me think they might have been
just sneaking a peek and not hearing her at all. I started to ask her to send
me her photo but then figured I'd mess up and be more insensitive if I didn't
say the right thing after I saw what she looked like.
You know I seem
to recall that the guy who dreamed up the pet rock in 1975 made several million
bucks from his idea. I checked Google and there is still a number of web sites
devoted to pet rocks along with a retirement home to send your rock if it is causing
you trouble or you think it needs a rest. I suppose there is a penal institution
somewhere for it if it is convicted.
I'd bet 85% of the people today have
never heard of a pet rock…..now might be the time to bring them back…you could
always keep one on hand in case you need a snack….
I'm sorry; I just couldn't
resist that one…
© Peary Perry
Letters
From North America >
June
29, 2006 column
Syndicated weekly in 80 newspapers
Comments go to www.pearyperry.com
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Here
is a synopsis of my first book…entitled Manuel Muldoon.
At night,
Manuel Muldoon, a magna-cum-barely high-school graduate, dreams of two things:
leaving Marshlake, Texas, and becoming a successful mystery writer. By day, the
often-belittled half-Irish, half-Mexican young man is houseboy to the town's first
family of banking: Robert and Nancy Sturmwell and their spoiled daughter Miss
Victoria, and sometimes Robert's nephew Jeff and his beautiful wife Erica. With
the family away on vacation, Manny agonizes over his first novel and revels in
the peace-until the family returns and a contractor sees an arm sticking out of
the unfinished swimming pool wall. Framed for one murder, implicated in another,
Manny confides in Vicky while evading police and the murderer on a fast-paced,
dangerous trip to uncover the truth. A sleepy Texas town, drug money laundering,
a jealous roommate, a crooked banker in league with a crooked cop, and a naïve
writer to-be converge in Manuel Muldoon. | |
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