Get Down

Soon after we married Hilary wanted a kitten. Soon she wanted a dog: to keep the kitten company. (Then she wanted a baby: just a little one, please.)

Hilary wanted a scottie, which we'd named Angus in advance. (Imagine our surprise when the pup we brought from Macy's puking all over the subway was a German shepherd.) I determined that I'd become a good dog trainer. When Angus chewed my slippers I spoke harshly to him. From then on Angus chewed only Hilary's slippers. I trained Angus never to get up on the couch. Thereafter Angus vacated the couch as soon as he heard us coming home: or at least as soon as he heard me coming home.

Once when Hilary was pregnant and walking Angus he pulled her down and dragged her. That time I ignored the book's admonition to make sharp noises near the dog, especially near the dog's snout, but never to actually hit the dog. I did hit Angus that time. I beat Angus. A lot of good it did. But someone clued me in: "How old is the dog," that person asked? "Is he two yet?" "No: a year and a half." "Never mind," he said, "Be patient. Until he's two he's a puppy: un-trainable. Once he's an adult you'll see your training take effect." Wow, was that true. Once Angus was two he proved to be the most amazingly intelligent and well behaved dog. I've already told some Angus stories elsewhere. The Fed in censoring my AgainstHierarch.org domain knocked all my domains, all three thousand of my text files off line and my couple of thousand graphics. Gradually I'm remounting some of the modules, but thus far I don't think any Angus stories have been resurrected. But I tell this Angus story for a different reason. Actually it's not an Angus story at all: it's a Paul story: a Paul and his society story.

You see: the one dog training lesson I got from the books that actually worked and worked almost right away, long before Angus was two, concerned training Angus not to jump up against people: pawing at their shins, thighs, and crotch. The book said to deflect the dog with your knee: wait till the dog is half way launched, where he can no longer see your knee coming. Then just stick your knee out and deflect the dog from landing against your legs or body. The book "explained" that the dog would eventually give up. Eventually the dog would assume from his failures to land on his target that human beings simply can not be jumped up against. By golly, whether or not that reason applied, the technique nevertheless worked. Angus stopped trying to climb people.

And now I see how very well the same technique should have worked on me, would have worked on me had I had any sense. All my life I've tried to explain things to my society: how to live like humans, how to be less shameful, less illegitimate, less foolish, less deadly ... I've devoted my talents to writing my messages as stories, as myths, as jokes ... as art. But the society doesn't want me jumping up against its vulnerable parts: so it just puts its knee out. No matter what I say, no matter how humorously I weave the matter, the society doesn't want my paws in its sensitive parts, and it deflects me. The stories aren't published, my professors all play Peanuts' Lucy and pull the football away before I can kick it. My novels aren't published. Finally my domain modules are outright censored.

But look: here I am: stupid me: still trying to communicate!!!!