I ranted about this before when my car was broken into but it bears repeating. Today, while I was at work, my wife walked into our house to discover an intruder. He fled out the back door just as my wife got inside and it took a few moments before she realized it wasn’t me she was seeing but a stranger.

The man couldn’t have been in the apartment for very long since he only stole a laptop cable and a Nintendo DSi. He also took my wife’s cigarettes on the way out but I’m not torn up about that one. The laptop was literally right there for the taking but luckily he didn’t reach for it.

This bastard had gained entry through a bedroom window that didn’t lock properly. He went into the children’s room and searched their underwear drawer for reasons unknown, moved a desk and knocked over a lamp. Considering how little damage he did and how little he stole he couldn’t have been here for longer than literally a minute.

The police dusted for fingerprints but determined he must have been wearing gloves and my wife didn’t get a look at his face because he was wearing a hoodie. I suppose he’s not only a reprobate but a well-prepared reprobate.

Look, here’s the thing. This is what bothers me more than losing possessions. It’s the laziness of theft. I’ve experienced extreme poverty. I’ve known what it’s like to have nothing and to work for minimum wage. Going out and stealing would have been easy. And also gutless.

I live in a 2-bedroom apartment and my kids share a room. I don’t have much money. We live mostly hand-to-mouth. I never owned a laptop until I went to school in 2010 and it was the cheapest money could buy. The Nintendo was a gift from my brother. Aside from that we have a few meager possessions. I drive a 15-year-old car. It’s obvious this is a lower class family home.

So why rob me? I mean, I don’t want anyone robbed but why would this degenerate scum rob from people who clearly have next to nothing? Because it’s easy? That must be it since my wife’s friend was similarly robbed by a mechanic she had used and who came back to her house while she was out to steal her laptop.

In the ancient times society used to disfigure thieves, even in Europe. At first they wouldn’t amputate limbs. They’d simply scar their faces as a warning to others. Seems fair to me. Let’s tattoo the faces of these people so the world will always know the dishonorable wretched bastards who walk among us preying on the poor.

I enjoy being a municipal reporter. That’s because on a local level I think it’s probably the easiest way to practice unbiased journalism, particularly if you don’t even live in the community in which you report. That happens to be the case for me, so it certainly allows me to report on subjects that would nearly be impossible to become invested in or inappropriately attached.

I suspect the heat grows as you report for larger municipalities, like a Toronto or a Vancouver newspaper. And once you begin reporting provincially or federally, it’s got to be difficult to please all of the people all of the time. Eventually someone, somewhere is going to think your newspaper articles are written favouring one side.

Reporting in a community where you don’t live is pretty much the heart of journalism. You don’t really know the place as well as somebody who lives there. And that’s partly a good thing, since it allows you to stand back and look at things objectively. You don’t necessarily care if some gigantic event is going to change things for better or worse since it doesn’t affect you.

Similarly, journalism is about reporting on events and things that you only have a superficial understanding about. Today I might have to write about municipal taxes and tomorrow I might have to write about a musician touring through town.

I don’t own a house so I don’t really know much about municipal taxes, and there’s a high probability I’ve never listened to the music of the band, but with a little research and some interviews I can become an expert for a day. It’s enough to help people understand the basics and then leave them the prerogative to dig deeper.

This whole process works for me. Something is happening, I find out what it is, I ask experts what they think, I print the story. Nowhere in that process do I really need to worry about what I think, other than trying to evaluate where the balance of sides might exist in a dispute. For instance, a new commercial development will have supporters and opponents and it’s important to get both sides.

But if there’s one thing that I believe has affected me after one year in journalism, it is the attitude some people have with regards to what other people are allowed to do with their own property. It’s not that I’m “pro-development” so much as I feel the whole “NIMBY” attitude is frustrating to deal with. And what’s worse is that if you don’t share sympathy with the NIMBYists, then you get the sense that they feel you’re against them. When the truth is I don’t care.

For example, the municipality I report in receives a large number of development applications. Some of them are big developments that affect the whole community and I can understand why people have reservations and want to voice their opposition.

But many of them involve modest changes where the owner of some land wants to subdivide his property and build new homes. Other applications just ask for variances to their property to build another structure, like a secondary dwelling or a coach house in the back.

It irritates me when people actually believe they have the right to get upset about what somebody else does to their own house or property. I think it’s bad enough you need to get permits and pass environmental inspections to make changes to your own property, but when other people decide to butt in I just don’t get it.

What business is it of theirs? Why do homeowners have to worry about what other people think? Why do people care how many trees get cut down on a piece of land that doesn’t belong to them?

I think the concept of property rights and land ownership is now so weakened in Canada that we all honestly believe we have the right to block other people from doing whatever they want to do. And to make things worse, I often hear complaints about how a proposal will ruin the neighbourhood, when it sounds exactly like the one I’m living in.

It’s almost a denial of reality and acceptance of how the rest of the world lives. If people don’t want things to ever change maybe they should move to the great barrens of northern Canada. Then they’d have nobody to worry about, and nothing bad will ever happen to the surrounding landscape.

As a person who’s never really won anything before, I was pretty pleased to learn this morning that I won a journalism award in my “rookie year”, so to speak. Actually, that’s not entirely accurate. When I was in Grade 9 I won an award for best student in the vocal arts program. I think I also won a trophy or two playing hockey, but they may have been “participant” trophies. I’m pretty sure they were, now that I remember.

What did I win? I actually didn’t receive first prize, but I came in third (bronze medal I suppose) in the Suburban Newspapers of America (SNA) awards for “Best In-depth Reporting” for a series of articles I wrote about the B.C. HST entitled, “The HST: What’s In The Cards?”

I was surprised because I didn’t win anything in the provincial or national community newspaper awards, so to be recognized on a continental scale (SNA looks at newspaper in both countries) is pretty great. And now I can call myself an “award-winning journalist” without it being a pretend self-esteem exercise in the mirror.

But in seriousness, I can’t really take credit for the award all myself. I was put into the Abbotsford newsroom as a rookie reporter and given complete confidence to work on the HST series by my editor (30-year veteran Andrew Holota), while providing guidance when I needed it.

To be honest, my confidence was really shot coming out of journalism school last year. Although I had the National Post writing gig on the resume, I absolutely bombed a job interview with the Vancouver Province newspaper (ask me about it in private if you’re curious because it’s fairly legendary), and then followed that up by bombing a second job interview with the Vancouver Sun. To top it off, I was told by the editor of the Langley Advance that I’d never amount to much as a reporter.

So it gives me great pleasure to say that even if it all goes downhill from here, for this one moment I’ve proven my doubters wrong and I am capable of doing something right.

My 4-year-old daughter is certainly not on the path toward feminist empowerment yet, as she wants to grow up and be a mommy and ride a purple pony, but we’re working on it. As an aside, she acts deliberately silly in the video, so when she says the wrong thing it’s because she’s teasing me and not because she doesn’t understand the question.

Ever since I can remember, I’ve had hallucinations in that fleeting state between sleep and consciousness, before full lucidity has kicked in and I’m aware of who I am or what I’m doing. Most people take a few tenths of a second for that process to take place as the eyes flutter open, make out familiar shapes in the darkness, send signals to the brain to interpret the information, and then return a verdict. I’m in my bed, sleeping next to my wife and I’m looking at the draperies.

But more often than not my brain works a little different than most people, for before my brain can wait for my eyes to adjust to the vague shapes before interpreting its surroundings, it decides to fill in the information for me. That’s when I see shapes moving in the darkness, figures standing in the doorway, spiders crawling across the ceiling, or sometimes snakes rushing toward my face. These waking hallucinations even have a name. Hypnagogia, the transitional state between wakefulness and sleep.

The immediate imagery can be unsettling or even frightening. The appearance of a door opening or closing turns out to be nothing more than the brain anticipating movement from an object not in transition. The shadowy figure in the doorway turns out to be the background shadow of the hallway. But the rushing objects or spiders can be startling because one is pushed quickly into wakefulness with the belief one is under attack. Although spiders appears to be the most common hallucinatory phenomena, my experience has shown these figures can be anything, including the belief invaders are in the house prowling around.

The rapidity with which the brain invents a false scenario is impressive. I have rolled onto the floor, rushed to shut a door, or put my hands out as though to block an attack. The only comfort in these episodes is that the mind is still so transitionally inclined to either wakefulness or sleep that after mentally reassuring there is no danger, the brain seems able to easily slip back into sleep with no ill after effects. By morning it’s usually be forgotten.

I suppose the first time I became aware my hallucinations were real is when I would sit bolt upright in bed and ask my wife why there were hanging cages in our room. I don’t remember what the cages look like or why they’re hanging there, but my wife tells me she would reassure me there were no cages and I would go back to sleep. After I became consciously aware of my hallucinations, I began to remember having them, even though the details of each episode remain elusive.

Hypnagogia is similar to, but not to be confused with, the more terrifying sleep paralysis, which my wife experienced in her early twenties. Physiologically, the paralysis occurs as a natural part of REM sleep, however it is the body that shuts down while the mind remains awake. During this time the paralysis is usually, and understandably, accompanied by either terrifying audio or visual hallucinations, or a perceived sense of impending danger, such as the presence of a person standing nearby just out of peripheral sight.

I’ve never experience paralysis, and as a phenomenon goes it’s apparently so rare that one can only expect to experience it once in their lifetime, if ever. The condition I have, however, seems to be recurring enough to be deemed frequent, as it happens several times per week. What this suggests to me is that my body doesn’t shut down properly and remain shut down for the full eight hours of sleep.

What I suppose fascinates me about this condition is that for a few moments my brain sustains the perception of a reality unfolding that is dreamlike in nature. It is a waking dream, in that my first instinct is to react to the false stimuli my eyes are receiving. I have sometimes wondered what is the longest period of time I have been under misapprehension before I was able to figure out what’s really happening.

This condition highlights the fact that the brain goes into a “low power” mode during sleep, much like a computer, and in the same way it requires a quick reboot. Have you ever woken up in your bed in a state of panic, wondering who the person is sleeping next to you, where you are, and what you’re doing there? I can recall distinctly feeling a fear, even if it only lasted for one second, of not remembering who is sleeping next to me. Naturally, I remember it’s my wife, as it has been for nearly 20 years.

I believe also that part of the fear of Hypnagogia is due to a primal instinct in man of sleeping in the wild and being ready for attack. A person usually wakes up in a feeling of comfort or security, but the disorienting feeling caused by Hypnagogia evokes a primitive fear of persecution from the natural world or spirits. In those fleeting moments the brain isn’t able to compute rationally, leading the person to allow instinct to take over.

I don’t have any intention of going to a doctor or anything. It’s a harmless quirk of my nature and I don’t remember most of the episodes. What about you? Do you have any sleeping quirks?

When I was a child I used to pity religious children for their unquestioning faith. And though I wouldn’t mock them openly, I would defend any attempts at conversion with replies of contempt. It wasn’t that I didn’t respect diversity of opinion, but I felt mine was clearly the logically superior one.

I confess I still feel this way about religion, but I can see now that I am merely a product of my own upbringing. Just as the religious children were raised by their parents to believe in the magic man in the sky, I was raised to find such ideas absurd. And so my childhood feelings of superiority had little to do with knowing the truth and much to do with merely following in the traditions of my own theism, though it happened to be antitheistic.

That’s sort of the point, isn’t it? We raised our children to distinguish between what we believe is right and wrong. The religious who believe in Allah are no different from the ones who believe in the resurrection of Jesus Christ, who are not different from me. We are all certain in our convictions that those who do not think as we do are fools.

I’m not lamenting this inevitability so much as I loathe that my own views are shaping my children with the same inherited philosophies. It isn’t that I doubt my own belief in the absolute impossibility of a deity — indeed, I suspect my unbelief has grown stronger as I age — but that I am merely part of that inherited chain of philosophy started by my father.

He taught me to be irreligious, which I am handing down to my son, and which he will likely hand down to his son. It matters little whether we’re right in our beliefs. I would rather he discovered the universe in as unbiased and unprejudiced a manner as he will science and mathematics.

And though I pity the religious, whom I consider to be willingly ignorant of the fabrications that are deities, I do wonder if it is misplaced. After all, throughout the history of mankind people have worshipped spirits and gods, trees and mountains, the sun and the stars. Except for the bloodletting that religion has caused throughout the ages, most of these delusions have been harmless. (Nor do I ignore atheistic genocides, such as Soviet Russia).

I’m not trying to be insulting by characterizing these beliefs as delusions either; I suspect Christians find it as absurd Allah chose a polygamous prophet to spread the word of God as the Muslims find it bizarre the Christians worship a vampiric carpenter. We all inwardly believe these customs and superstitions are silly, except for our own of course.

But it did make me think. Christmas is one example of many in which we allow a fictitious deity to inhabit the imaginations of our children. The Santa Claus fable, though greatly changed from his genesis for our own consumerist benefit, is something we let children believe in for the first few years of their life, knowing full well it isn’t real. We feel the reward of allowing them to believe in a greater power is greater than letting them grow up in a world without magic.

Perhaps religion is like the continuation of such wilful delusion, but not without some benefit. To believe in a world with magic, no matter how ludicrous in reason, is not inherently harmful to anybody, provided one does not demand others believe in his or her delusions. It may be that I am getting older and wiser, or else I was previously greatly immature, but I no longer harbour pity or contempt for the religious. Though they do not accept the “truth” of the universe, perhaps the rewards of believing in magic are greater.

I know it sounds condescending, arrogant and even hateful to disregard the fervently held beliefs of others. But which is the greater (secular) sin? To speak these feelings plainly or harbour them darkly in one’s heart? I choose the former, and in so doing relinquish this inherited role of an indoctrinator of faith, or lack thereof.

RELATED

With the thousands of blog entries I’ve written over the years I knew this one sounded familiar. I wrote something incredibly similar two years ago, also revolving around the Santa Claus fable. Have a read if you wish.

They say people never really change, but the person I am today doesn’t remotely resemble who I was even 10 years ago. A decade ago I was a twenty-something member of the entitlement class, frustrated that life hadn’t handed me a silver platter by virtue of nothing more than the fact that I was, despite my lack of education and work experience in any field, a unique individual capable of valuable insights and immeasurable talent.

I was politically socialist, though my reasons weren’t based on the evaluation of its performance in real-world situations. I merely bought into the assumptions of truth through a viewpoint that had been shaped by my upbringing. The irony is that I used to pity those who didn’t think like I did, believing they were brainwashed to adhere to traditional concepts of conservatism and religion by inheritance.

Maybe it’s a part of growing up, but the things I was doing 10 years ago just don’t apply to me anymore. For example, I used to play ice hockey up until about the age of 27. Every winter I used to play hockey in some form, whether it was with equipment in a beer league, on or roller blades in a parking lot in downtown Toronto, or just shinny pickup at Ryerson’s outdoor fountain.

I was also pretty good at playing hockey, or at least better than your average beer leaguer. I could skate very well, had good hands and keen hockey sense. And my enthusiasm for the sport was buttressed by strong interest in watching professionals in the NHL, in which two of my first cousins played. It’s unremarkable to say I grew up with a keen appreciation for Canada’s favourite sport.

Today, I don’t care about ice hockey. I can barely summon the interest to follow who’s winning in the playoffs, let alone know who the players are. There’s something altogether uninteresting about the sport now, which I neither play nor watch, and now that the dynasties of the ’80s are long gone, the Stanley Cup Champions are interchangeable and forgettable year to year. Who won the 2006 Stanley Cup? Who knows or cares?

Similarly, a decade ago I was obsessed with rock climbing. I read about it, practiced every chance I got, and trained for it at every opportunity. I gladly eschewed time from my family in order to go and ascend some obscure intricate feature of rock and thought nothing about the cost of doing it. I saved my money to purchase new equipment, and I immersed myself in the industry by working in a climbing gym and teaching courses on the side.

Today, I don’t care about climbing. I still go to the gym now and then, as I did today, but the excitement, the intense pleasure I received from climbing is gone. When I arrive to the climbing gym now, all I sense is a shadow of my former passion for the sport, but it is the pursuit of a remnant of pleasure from something I once enjoyed. I no longer want to climb. And it isn’t just in the gym. I wasn’t able to travel outside on a sunny day 10 years ago without my palms sweating and my fingers twitching to be on a rock face somewhere. Now, I’m able to go out on a sunny day with the family and not think once about being on the end of a rope.

Ten years ago I considered the accruing of wealth and assets a singularly selfish enterprise of those afflicted by capitalism’s diseased allure. The last things I wanted were a house, a car, credit and equity, two kids and a dog. To me these were signs of conformist capitulation of the uninspired. Today, I want all of these things, though I’m now delayed in my development of some of them by more than 15 years of wasted time.

I’m nothing like the person I was 10 years ago, and in a way that frightens me. All of the things I was willing to sacrifice for, all of the things I cherished and treasured, all of the convictions I held as pure as the driven snow are now gone. I believe things entirely differently and I pursue entirely different goals now. I’m also arrogantly certain that what I want in life and what I’m doing is exactly as it should be, which is exactly how I felt about everything I wanted and did 10 years ago.

The question is, what will I think and believe 10 years from now?

Just a few things that I’ve been meaning to write about but haven’t had time for lately. First off, yes I did read the summary judgement of the Baglow v Smith/Fourniers in which the former was suing for defamation over a comment involving the Taliban. People who know my own history will know Baglow also intended to sue me for a similar comment, and would have if I hadn’t posted a retraction and apology.

I don’t really have much to say about the judgement, other than the fact that I think the right decision was made and there are several reasons the judge gave that make me think my lawsuit might have gone in a similar way. Having said that, when Baglow sued me I had neither money nor even employment to defend myself with. So given the risk, I made the right decision.

A selection from the decision:

The fact that the parties are engaged in ongoing debate over what it means to support the Taliban is recognized in the plaintiff’s attempt to explain the distinction between his situation and that when the late Jack Layton, former leader of the NDP, was described as “Taliban Jack”.

[...]

I frankly fail to see the distinction in not implying “conscious support” when applied to “Taliban Jack” giving an edge to the Taliban and to the statement that the plaintiff is a supporter of the Taliban.

But more importantly, the plaintiff’s comment is understood as being part of the ongoing debate between two factions represented by the parties’ views. No reasonably informed Canadian would conclude that Mr.Layton was defamed by being called Taliban Jack, understanding that this was simply a catchy label attached to him by conservatives to showcase what they consider the weakness of the liberal argument in this political debate.

While making it perfectly clear I’m not referring to the plaintiff here, I would suggest that any reasonably informed Canadian would conclude that moral arguments made about the war in Afghanistan are often participated in a similar spirit. Insofar as literally interpreting moral arguments about support for the Taliban as an act of defamation, the judge had it right that similar remarks suggesting conservatives are sympathetic to fascists and Nazis are equally non-defamatory and merely part of the thrust and parry that is political commentating on blogs.

Enough about that.

I also met with Dr. Roy Eappen yesterday for coffee in Vancouver. Contrary to many of the nasty things some of the leftwing blogs have said about him, he has always to me seemed fair-minded and rational about his beliefs and attitudes. He happens to be conservative and makes no apologies for his opinions. As well, I owe my experience in Afghanistan to a generous donation made by Roy, as well as Fred Litwin and several others.

It was nice to meet him. He’s a person who puts his money where his mouth is, supporting conservative ventures and ideas on a grassroots level.

I think that everybody has a general idea of what a journalist’s responsibilities are, even if the results of our profession have become as disregarded as the lawyers. People know that truth and objectivity are the most important pursuits for a journalist, even though the public might think we fail miserably in this objective. The primary goal remains the same. Present the facts, as unchanged or influenced by personal opinion as possible. We all know this.

The truth is that our concepts of pure objectivity in journalism are pretty antiquated. While journalism evolved during a time when one person had to actively seek out information on behalf of the general public, who then relied entirely upon the accuracy of your reporting for being informed, those days ended with the advent of the internet. Now, it’s fairly reasonable to assume that your reporting has a minor effect on whether an important story gets out. All you’re striving for now is to stand out in an industry where anybody with a cell phone can claim to be a journalist.

For the record, the primary goals of a reporter should be accuracy, impartiality and responsibility. Accuracy of information is what we depend on for credibility as a journalist; failing that basic goal we have nothing. To be impartial, even in the face of self-evident right and wrong, is also important. Though one might feel compelled to say that Casey Anthony got away with murder, one should not generally write this in news reporting. As for responsibility, this last issue is fairly nebulous and subject to ambiguity. After all, does the press really have a responsibility, and if so what are its motivators?

I realize that trust in the media is at an all-time low. I know this because I went from being a construction worker to being a journalist, and trust in what I write on my blog has diminished in the esteem of several of my readers. It’s bizarre to me, since as a man I haven’t changed my way of thinking at all, but the profession isn’t as well regarded as construction. Which is funny, since I didn’t feel very well regarded by my peers while working construction. I’ve lost your respect, but I’ve regained my own.

Are journalists impartial and objective? It depends on what you mean by the question. Is any human being impartial and objective? Of course not. We know journalists aren’t impartial because they’re just people, like you and I, who are required to do a job, but they still have underlying biases and opinions. When CTV News Quebec City bureau chief Kai Nagata quit suddenly (based on some rather self-aggrandizing notions of disillusionment, this from a 24-year-old earning six figures) we learned exactly how your average reporter feels underneath the surface.

Does that mean Nagata was biased in his reporting? No, I don’t think that at all. For example, I had a fairly strong opinion on the HST, and as you all know I voiced that opinion several times in opinion columns, talk radio and blog entries. But it didn’t affect the way I did my job, or the requisite impartiality I was obliged to produce to counter-balance opposing views. If you don’t believe me, read the news articles I wrote on the HST. If you can find an opinion in there that you think represents my biases, then you’re more perceptive than I am.

Let’s face it. All journalists have biases and opinions beneath the surface, and to pretend otherwise is nothing but nonsense. I’m still a politically centrist guy with right-leaning opinions who has politically incorrect views on immigration, and becoming a journalist has done nothing to change that. What has changed is my ability to freely express my views in any forum of my choosing. I am now obligated by the duties of my profession to be impartial in reporting a balance of other people’s opinions on an issue of importance.

Sometimes it’s easy to be impartial. I’m not likely to have an opinion on a fire or a car accident or a road closure. But, like most people, there are certain things that frustrate me and antagonize me, in that I’m forced to present a side of a story that I don’t necessarily think bears repeating. Fortunately for journalism, that choice isn’t up to me. If it were, I wouldn’t be a journalist, I’d be a blogger.

I understand why several people in the public feel betrayed by journalists, and sense there’s some kind of pervasive bias against right-leaning issues. I don’t deny there’s some credibility to this sentiment, but I do fail to understand why all journalists are tarred with the same brush. It may surprise people to know this, but many of the journalists I’ve met have either been of the same political mind as me, or have no political leanings at all. It is actually possible to have apolitical journalists, whether or not it is to be believed, the fact is that I’ve met these people.

I’m curious to understand, however, why some people think journalism should be disbanded altogether, and allow people to rely solely on bloggers and the government. The former, while quick to gather news and information that media can’t get access to, aren’t responsible to anybody to provide a balanced and moderate position on a subject. They can tell you whatever they like, and omit any relevant details they don’t think is worth telling. The latter, while more trustworthy than the one in Iran, isn’t likely to tell you the sorts of things that might impinge upon their ability to get reelected.

So, yes, even in 2011 we’re still very much dependent upon the profession of journalism, no matter how poorly you might think they do their jobs. From personal experience I can tell you that it isn’t quite as easy as you may think. It’s one thing to come across a news story. But you then have to corroborate it, verify details, find out the key actors, interview several sources, provide balance, do background research, consult experts, read statistics, and then distil it into a word count that is still compelling which attention-deficit internet readers might actually be able to absorb. Not easy.

You might say journalists are like your spouse of 20 years. Can’t live with us. Can’t live without.

Sadie at the first summit of the Squamish Chief. Aug. 19, 2011.

I feel better ever since I got a dog. I do. I go out more often, do the things I want to do, enjoy the beauty that this region of the country has to offer, thanks to the dog. It’s not that I couldn’t do these things before, and I did, but having a dog motivates one to seek out new places to walk and places to experience. The dog has to be walked, so finding new things to do and see is always a good motivation to change things up.

Today we went for an isolated walk in Ladner along the beach. This area has to be some of the most beautiful country in god’s creation. There are fields of golden wheat, every shade of greenery, the ocean, the looming North Shore mountains, the shimmering pale blue shadows of Vancouver Island’s peaks, the stark naked limbs of driftwood bleached white from the sun, smoothed and polished from wind and sea, which peek out from the sands like skeletal remains. And so desolate.

Being a dog owner again is strange. I spent so many years outside that world that I’d forgotten how people treat you when you have a dog. On the one hand you get the typical fear and prejudice from people who don’t like dogs, the ones who will literally cross the street because you’re approaching with a whippet-thin 30-pound pointer on a lead who has all of the ferocity of a tit mouse. On the other you get the dog owners, which is a bizarre situation because unlike the parents of children, dog owners will actually socialize with you.

In what other situation would a young, relatively attractive, thin and toned woman approach you with a wide smile, bend down and make baby noises at your dog? There is probably no other social situation on earth in which you and that person would find some commonality to speak to one another about the banality of your dog’s breed and characteristics. And let’s not forget that one is obligated, sheerly by good manners, to volunteer the bare minimum of age, breed and temperament.

“Oh, she’s about one, a pointer-mix, and really quite friendly.”
“What a sweetie! Mine is a…”

That doesn’t happen with parents. It’s a little odd. You walk around with a 3-year-old and no other parent comes bounding up with a huge smile, screaming, “Oh, what a gorgeous little girl! How old is she? What kind is she?” It’s almost as if parents are too wrapped up in their own little world to really realize there are others who share in their pain. If anything, the only thing parents do is moderate playtime at the park, to ensure little Johnny (or to update for modern times you can pick an ethnic name) doesn’t do anything drastic like, oh I don’t know, socialize with other children.

It’s this last issue that often permeates into the dog culture crowd as well. People who like to moderate their dog’s behaviour, ensuring their dog won’t act like a dog. Today I went to the dog park, which as the name implies is a good place to bring your dog. When I arrived there was a group of people sitting on the grass with a large dog. The dog noticed mine, as they are wont to do, and stood up.

“Rita!”
“Riiiita.”
“RITA!”

The dog had barely moved, and these people were screaming at the dog. And since mine has a tendency to socialize with other dogs by running up to them and daring them to chase her, I called her back and put the lead back on. By this point Rita had returned to her sitting position by her pack.

“Sorry,” one of them said to me as I passed by. “She’s a big dog and we don’t want her to chase others, just in case.”

Just in case of what? That’s what dogs do, they chase other dogs. Then they catch each other and switch roles. It’s kind of like tag. Then they wrestle, bite, lick, sniff, mount, run again, roll, wrestle again, and then lay there panting. It’s how you avoid the dog staring at you at 10 p.m., tail waving furiously, motioning toward the door. It’s what’s supposed to be the reason you come to a dog park. Not for you. For your dog.

People treating dogs like humans has so much rampant evidence that it really doesn’t require much effort. Today, while driving to Ladner, I saw in the car ahead of me a tiny dog driving a hatchback. I know a dog wasn’t driving the car, but insofar as I could see the reflection in the rear and sideview driver’s mirror, a small dog was clearly driving over the Knight Street bridge. Actually, this is an insanity not even parents will inflict on their children.

But given the fact the population is a little neurotic, it makes sense that dog owners have their own neuroses. Not content with letting their dog be a dog, they’ll mollycoddle, scold, cluck and “tssst” their dogs like Cesar Millan, never really understanding they’re probably correcting the healthier aspects of the dog’s behaviour, while nurturing the destructive parts with affection. It never ceases to amaze me when people yell at their dog for playing tug-of-war with another dog trying to steal the stick it found. Leave the dog alone! It’s a stick! Who cares which dog wins that fight? The dog won’t remember, lose self-esteem or feel social inadequacies from it. It won’t have a daddy complex and feel insecure throughout its life from not being able to live up to your expectations. It’s a dog. It has a five second memory recall.

That’s part of the beauty of animals. Unlike the rest of us, they live in the moment. So if you’re out walking along the beach with the dog and you accidentally hit it in the head with the stick you just threw at it, there’s no long-term implications. You pick up another one and the dog shakes it off and chases it. Not so with kids. If you hit your kid in the face with a stick, there’s a good chance they’re going to remember it.

Dog people, however, are generally sympathetic to the concerns of other dog people. They understand that society has a bit of a fear of dogs, particularly among the cultures who didn’t have dogs back in their countries, so they recognize that we have to stick together. And it’s important that we keep the right to owning dogs fairly high a priority, given all their therapeutic benefits. I seriously feel better, emotionally and physically, by having one.

That doesn’t mean I go out and buy my dog coats and boots and bow ties and anthropomorphize it by buying calcium-enriched fortified kibble with glucosamine sulfate tablets. It’s still just a dog. It’ll die in 10 years and I’ll get another one. But I’m not going to minimize the impact she has on my life. And I really think landlords should consider that pet owners are likely to be more responsible, more reliable people if they’re allowed to have one. It’s better to let dogs provide a free medical benefit to people now, than treat them for expensive depression-related drugs down the road. But hey, that’s just my way of thinking.