I’m currently struggling through a Booker prize shortlisted novel. You know at the start of a book when there’s a page or two to set the scene before the action begins? It’s been like that all the way through so far, and since I’m a third of the way through, it’s beginning to dawn on me that the entire novel is going to be like that. The realization has dismayed me so much I haven’t been able to open my kindle for days. Hence, I’m writing another post as a light distraction.
None of our dogs over the years has ever taken the slightest interest in the TV. So it was with some surprise that I noted that Catdog seems to be able to see what’s on the screen and reacts to it as if it’s real. This initially manifested as polite interest, but the relationship has since become more toxic, so that now she’s agitated if there are any animals on display. Dogs in particular get her quite wound up, growling and barking.
In trying to explain to me why Catdog can see things on there whereas Goofy doesn’t respond at all, one of the offspring went into quite a bit of detail about frame rate refreshments and such which seemed to suggest that Goofy was actually more intelligent because she could tell that it was just colours and shapes moving on the screen, rather than a window through to another dimension. I’m not entirely convinced, as surely Occam’s razor would suggest they are both as stupid as each other in their own way? In any event, things peaked last weekend when we were watching David Attenborough presenting The private lives of plants. This documentary series was made back in the mid nineties, when David was already in his seventies, but he was as sprightly as ever, crashing through tropical undergrowth, climbing across rugged arctic mountainsides, and abseiling down trees. Catdog objected most strongly to this behaviour. Every time David came on screen, she started barking hysterically. This wouldn’t do at all, as David is somewhat revered in our family. Did I tell you about the time we went to see him live in Auckland a few years ago? We all cried when he came on stage, we were so overwhelmed. Anyway, Catdog soon took the hint after having blankets and other soft cushioning thrown at her, and she eventually retired into the bedroom, crawling under the bed to hide in a sulk.
It turns out TV for pets is actually a thing. There are whole channels devoted to it. You can set it to play for hours, entertaining your cats with pictures of mice running around, balls of wool, or string unraveling across the screen.
Dogs, as it turns out, are much more interested in watching other dogs. It’s promoted as a boredom buster for stay at home companion animals. I remember there was a trend for putting your kids in front of the TV to watch baby Mozart, or other similar programmes, that were supposed to promote brain growth but were actually just acting as babysitters for frazzled parents. Now there are even conversations on Reddit about fears of the harm too much screen time is doing to poor Ginger or Mr Fluffykins. Is this one more brick on the path to the collapse of Western civilization? Maybe, but I would posit that on the continuum of destructive influences I would suggest obsession over the wellbeing of our family pets is on quite the opposite end of the spectrum to Trump/climate change/arthropod extinction, etc.