Animals Are People

A chapter from Animals Are People by Peter Morville

Chapter 2

I’m in bed, naked, and it’s the Itching Hour. That’s what I call it. I wake in the night, and I can’t resist. At first, it’s the tickle of a single bite on my ankle. I rub a fingertip around it. I’m gentle. Still, it itches more, not less. The bite beneath the waistband of my panties tingles. So I take them off, t-shirt too. Touch and heat are triggers. I use my nails. I try to stop. But I can’t. My skin crawls. Places without bumps itch. It makes no sense. This is the third night in a row!

My suffering is the work of chiggers. I knew Gage would know. When I rode into Fox Holler, Gage was sipping beer on a wooden bench by the stable. I ditched my bike in the dead grass, slipped off my left muck boot and the sweaty sock beneath it, and asked him about the bites.

“Hey, Jo, mornin’ to you too. Come sit, put yer ankle where I can see it.” Gage set his Bud Light in the dirt, pulled my foot into his lap, took a look. “Do you want the good or bad news first?” I chose the bad. “It’s chiggers, nasty buggers, too small to see. They inject saliva, turns yer flesh to mush, itches like hell. For days, maybe a week. That time of year. Musta stepped in a nest.”

I swung around on the bench, slipped on my damp sock and boot. “So what stops the itch?”

“Nuthin’ really. Got creams if you want. Tilly snags all kinds of samples from the hospital, but I’ve had no luck with ‘em. Only cures are work, drink, and time. It’s just bad luck, Sweet Pea.”

Folks down here call me sugary names all the time. Neighbors, waitresses, men, women. It doesn’t mean anything. At first it drove me nuts. Now I ignore it. “So what’s the good news?”

“I got some new clients, a dozen Yankees from Boston, coming down next month for a college reunion. Bought the whole package. Trail ride through the vineyard. Dinner, drinks, bonfire. Now maybe I can afford to keep paying you. That’s why I’m celebrating. Here, want one?”

In this heat, I’m tempted, but grooming while intoxicated is a great way to lose teeth, so I pass. Gage is a trailhand. He takes tourists for rides. The trails lead to local wineries. It’s no surprise his business is popular. He looks the part. Acts it too. Gage is a real cowboy. He’s teaching me to shoot and lets me drink beer.

Of course, the farm is chaos. The chickens, ducks, guinea hens, cats, dogs, and peacocks are all free range. Only the horses are corralled. Gage isn’t a fan of farmwork, but that’s why I have a job. We get along well. I like his wife too. Tilly inherited Fox Holler from her nana. She works days as a nurse in Charlottesville, so I don’t see her much.

Anyways, that’s why I’m awake. Chiggers. I sigh, turn on my bedside lamp, grab my phone, and start reading. It’s a book called Free the Animals. It’s about the Animal Liberation Front. I’m in awe of their tactics. The raids are planned and executed with military precision. I’m on board with their purpose too. They liberate animals from abuse and expose exploitation and cruelty to sway public opinion. ALF dives deep into moral philosophy. Inari would approve.

As I read, a plan begins to form. The first step is surveillance. I’ll borrow the trail camera Dad uses for scouting deer. And I’ll talk to Gage. I can’t do it without him. I think I can get him to help. I can be sweet as honey when I need to. But what I really need is sleep. Class starts in a few hours. At least my bites have gone quiet. The only itch I want to scratch now is Ghost.

Morning comes too soon, and I’m late for class, again. And of course I spilled hot coffee racing up the stairs. I wipe my red right hand on wet shorts, leap into bed, and tear open the laptop.

“Good morning, Jo. You’re late again. Is there a problem?”

“Sorry. No. Just running behind.”

“Well, Jo, that’s not acceptable. It’s rude to be late. It’s disrespectful. I make a point of being here on time. And I expect you to do the same. Can you do that?”

Soggy shorts and a grumpy philosopher, what a blessed day! “Yes, Inari. Sorry. I’ll do better.”

“Right. So let’s tackle Plato first. Tell me about the cave Socrates describes to Glaucon.”

“Well, the men are tied up in an underground cave. They’ve been prisoners their whole lives. There’s a fire behind them and people with puppets. All the men have ever seen are shadows of the puppets on the cave wall. So they think the shadows are the real thing.”

“And what happens if a prisoner is released?”

“He doesn’t want to leave. He’s scared. The cave is all he’s ever known. At first, the sunlight blinds him, and the real world makes no sense. But eventually he sorts things out.”

“What if he returns to the cave to enlighten his friends?”

“They’ll think he’s crazy as an outhouse rat. They’ll want to kill him.”

“In this allegory, who’s enlightened? Who’s in the dark?”

“The man who sees the sun is a philosopher. Everyone else is in the dark.”

“So what do you think, Jo?”

“Glaucon is dumb as a sack of hammers. He always agrees with Socrates. But I do love the idea of the cave. Lots of people today have crazy beliefs. Maybe they’re prisoners of the shadows.”

“Right, it’s a seductive metaphor, an idea that spreads. We identify with the philosophers and hold the prisoners in contempt. And Glaucon is a foil for Socrates. Plato uses both to elevate his own beliefs. The dialog is persuasive or manipulative depending on your view. If I wanted to cause a fuss in the hallowed halls of academia, I might even accuse Plato of sophistry.”

“Well, the section on women and the family sure felt manipulative. I mean, Socrates says we should breed people like dogs, separate parents from their children, and murder defective babies to keep the stock pure. And Glaucon agrees with it all. It’s disgusting!”

“I see it made you angry. Good. Philosophy is how you feel. Of course, Plato would disagree. As a rationalist, he believes reason is the only source of wisdom. Yet in The Republic, we see reason can lead you astray. Plato’s dream of a utopian society is a totalitarian nightmare. But Plato stands on a pedestal, because folks cherry-pick the good parts. We love his shadows, and the insight that perfect lines and circles exist only in our minds, and his feminist advocacy of philosopher queens. But we give Plato a pass on eugenics. We say he was a man of his time.”

“Yeah, we visited Monticello a few months ago, and the tour guide gave Thomas Jefferson a pass on owning slaves. I mean the guy basically raped Sally Hemings. It really pissed me off.”

“I agree. People knew slavery was wrong. Jefferson surely did. But they had strong motives to rationalize. It’s the same today with animals. People know factory farming is wrong. But we love the smell of bacon. So we ignore, or excuse, or deny. And Mother Culture helps us all believe what we want, and feel good about it. In fact, that’s today’s last topic, as we unfortunately don’t have time for Aristotle. Plato hoped to breed people like dogs and that disgusted you. Why?”

I know it’s a trick question. I can tell by Inari’s smile. But I can’t see the trap. “Well, it made me think about how I’d feel if I was forced to breed like an animal. I’d fight. I’d rather die.”

“But you are an animal, aren’t you?”

I’ve fallen into their trap. “Well, I guess so. I mean, technically, we’re all animals, but humans are different. We choose our partners. We have liberty and freedom and laws and rights.”

“I could debate your exceptionalism, Jo, but I want to make my point. Plato knew that people are animals. His plan for selective breeding to produce offspring with desirable traits is based on this assumption. People are animals. It’s obvious. You said it yourself. But this self-evident truth was obscured by the Bible, the Scientific Revolution, and the Enlightenment. Our culture uses religion, science, and philosophy to discount the similarities and magnify the differences between us and them. It’s one reason we wear clothes. It’s coded into laws, rituals, traditions, art, architecture, literature, and language. The words ‘animal’ and ‘people’ are befuddling. They invoke a false binary. That’s why I prefer spectra to categories. It’s more honest to admit we exist on multiple continua than to worship a monolithic taxonomy that splits us and them. And spectra are beautiful — like the diversity of colors in a rainbow.”

I’m thinking of Ghost. If Gage agrees, I can fix the fence around the old pig pen. That will give her an acre of forest and a sturdy shelter, and keep her away from the farm animals. And even if Ghost barks, she won’t be as noisy as the guinea hens. There’s a spigot, so I can rig an automatic waterer. And I can feed her and spend time with her every day. It’s not perfect, but she’ll be safe. Nobody will hurt Ghost. Never again. Her trauma is mine. That dream fixed her memories in my mind. I’ll never forget. But we’ll make new memories. I can’t wait to shower her with love.

“Jo, hello, are you in there?” Inari is waving and smiling.

“Sorry. I spaced out. I heard the part about spectra being better than categories.”

“No worries. I was lecturing. I do get carried away. Anyway, I was saying we’ll discuss Aristotle and his monolithic taxonomy next class. See you then, Jo. And please be on time!”

After all that heavy philosophy, I need to just be. I swap coffee-stained shorts for sweats and head outside. It’s a cool day. I’m wandering across the dewy grass towards the goat yard when a noise makes me jump. Seconds later, a cat streaks past. Sunflower. She shadows me while I do chores, but I never see her approach. I’m convinced she simply apparates. Cats are magical creatures, after all. Speaking of which, Beans and Goh are sleeping on the barn roof in the sun.

As I latch the gate behind me, I feel nibbles and pecks. The chickens and goats are hoping for snacks. But that’s not why I’m here. I sit down, legs crossed, and wait. Peppermint nears. We lock eyes. I stroke her coarse white fur with both hands. While she’s as big as the others, poor Minty is stuck at the bottom of the pecking order. I cringe when they headbutt her. It’s violent. But, as Dad says, it’s just their nature. That’s why she’s my favorite. I always love an underdog.

Minty wanders off to gorge on pokeberries with her sisters. Her pearly white snout will be purple by afternoon. I never see the goats groom, but somehow they stay clean. Goats sleep five hours a day. Maybe they groom at night.

Now the coast is clear, the chickens come to roost. Jumbo Chick hops into my lap, she’s always first, then Puff, Ra, Fireball, Thelma, Frankenfoot. They jostle, then settle. I gently stroke Jumbo Chick. Soon they’re all sound asleep.

I feel the warmth of six hens on my legs. And I cherish their gift of trust. That they feel safe enough to sleep in my embrace, well, that’s the best feeling in the world. I close my eyes and breathe. I wonder and wander. I’m an animal. These are my friends. This is where I belong.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25

A chapter from Animals Are People by Peter Morville