Michael Vick is not a Inhuman Villain

Michael Vick is not a Inhuman Villain

Vick at the 2006 Pro Bowl.

At 75 years of age I appreciate my good luck for still being alive in a world where most creatures are eaten before they grow old. My purpose in writing this is to point out the need for people to be honest with themselves and seek the truth with as little emotion as possible.

Serious publications give evidence that our ancestors created all dogs from wolves by selective breeding. This means that at an early age, only those puppies that showed promise in fulfilling a need were kept. The rest were killed and then discarded as trash. If they were kept alive, the breed would be diluted or mongrelized. From cute little helpless lap dogs to aggressive Pit Bulls each breed had a purpose.

The selective process continues today. With selective breeding, Pit Bulls have been bred to be dangerously aggressive, and they certainly are. They all belong in zoos - not next door. No one has the hundreds of years and purposeful dedication to breed out the dangerous instincts that were bred into Pit Bull over many centuries.

The emotional case against the football star Michael Vick is magnified by accusations that puppies were slaughtered in evil ways. The truth is Michael Vick was engaged in an age-old human tradition of killing puppies. Unfortunately, there is no pretty way to kill a puppy, and an affectionate, obedient pit bull is useless; an aggressive bully is kept and fed. There is no way to see if a fighting dog can pass muster any sooner than cute puppy size.

It is not the dogcatcher’s job to help breeders. Their job is to control the population of dogs and cats that would be everywhere underfoot, starving, with festering sicknesses.

My generation and the one before can affirm that it was routine for people to put puppies and kittens in a bag before tossing them in a river. This service is now somehow performed behind closed doors. Dogcatchers insulate us from this important relationship between pets and people – we kill them if we can find no use for them.

For one of my experiments I went to a slaughterhouse. I think the cattle were already hanging by their hind legs as a muscular fellow, standing in a basin of blood, slit their throats before they went down the assembly line. Most people have been shielded from such brutal scenes and have a distorted sanitized view of meat.

People, with a distorted sense of reality, have even sponsored the “crucifixion” of Michael Vick. I heard a radio talk show host proclaim that he would gladly slit Michael Vick’s throat. He must have felt good while being so gung ho and sanctimonious because he said it several times. But I seriously doubt he would have the courage to threaten Vick with a knife.

A famous man once said, “It doesn’t matter the color of the cat as long as it is good at catching mice.” As our cat toyed with one, my emotions led me astray. I found myself rooting for a little mouse that tried to fight back. I feel lucky to have enough introspection to recognize that emotions can lead me in wrong directions.

Our cat would have felt bad if aware of my disloyalty. But introspection is just a big word for my wife, who is still panicked every time our Russian Gray cat, Feisty, proudly brings her catches to our door. Feisty is a real survivor. She wants only to remind us that we might have mice and birds in the cupboard if we toss her in the river.

One of my favorite “windows” for insight into what makes humanity tick is the vision of berserk fans at a “no holds barred” slugfest. Such events demonstrate the blood lust just under our skins. The massive slaughters in the Roman Coliseum were perhaps more organized than Aztec sacrifices and today’s slugfests. Another “window” is the Stanford Prisoner/Guard experiment of 1970. It showed how educated and otherwise sensible people can “go gung ho into cruelty”. I wish children could get an early glimpse of these realities so as to better control their emotions when they grow up.

Believe it or not, our ancestors paid to see dogs, chickens and even people kill each other. It is even popular today to watch one man give another man a concussion in the boxing ring. I have seen thousands of people enjoy bullfights in Mexico. Cockfights and dogfights are now illegal in our country, but they are not heinous crimes. The picture of a bull with blood gushing from its shoulders and a matador with sword withdrawn illustrates a ritualistic killing. In my day this was considered an artistic way to kill the animal.

At 4 years of age my son visited the Grandparents. The chickens quickly became his friends. Grandma made plans for chicken dinner. Art was not on Granddad’s mind when he took a chicken to the lawn, grabbed its head, and whirled its body like a lasso until it became detached.

In his generation most farm boys learned to wring a chickens neck at an early age. The headless body jerks and flops about on the ground for several seconds before being picked up, plucked of its feathers and gutted. If from birth my son had been exposed to this kind of slaughter, he would have understood an important reality.

His personality would not have suffered any more than his beloved Grandparents. But now in his 50s, my eldest son will not eat chicken, but like the rest of us he loves steak, hamburgers, and war movies. The difference is that we have been isolated and are shocked when we see real death. As a lookieloo activity with such an enduring history, I simply cannot feel a special disgust toward fans of dog fighting.

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By Allen Wilson

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