Instinctual Behavior
A Gay Opinion 5/28/02
by R. A. Melos
I had an interesting Memorial Day weekend. It started with my dog biting me
and ended with my doing yard work, instead of celebrating my birthday (May 27th,
I was 39, thanks for all the cards, gifts, and especially the cash), and coming
to some very enlightened conclusions about instinctual behaviors. I'll get to
my dog in a moment, first I want to address the yard work.
I hate yard work. Not just hate like you might hate the taste of asparagus or
Brussels sprouts, but hate on the level you might hate, oh, say, a terrorist
blowing up a national landmark. I really dislike any activity which makes me
sweat when there is no music and/or sex involved, but that's another story.
My reasons for hating yard work are simple. First and foremost I'm allergic
to just about everything outdoors and have to take allergy pills throughout
the grass cutting season, and double the amount when I do my own lawn. Second
no matter how low you set your mower to cut the grass, the moment the mower
is whizzing over the grass, it starts to grow again. Now this wouldn't be too
annoying, if it didn't mean I would have to cut the grass again in another five
or six weeks. Yes, I know it should be done every week or two, but you've obviously
missed the part where I said I hate to do yard work.
When it isn't the grass needing to be cut, it's the damnable leaves needing
to be raked. I mean, it isn't like they fall once a decade or so. No! They fall
every damned year, and I'm the one who has to rake the freakin' things into
piles, which then get bagged and placed on the curb for the garbage collection.
And since it takes me so long to get around to doing the yard work I hate to
do, my curb eventually looks like a giant mound of garbage.
Now I don't know about where you live, but my little town garbage persons dislike
anything more than two cans. I mean two small garbage cans if you can manage,
which I obviously can't. So my garbage is in more like, oh, 16 cans and the
garbage persons will undoubtedly get snarky when they see this, resulting in
a green tag telling me I'm putting out too much garbage and they don't have
to remove more than two cans worth.
Oh, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, why doesn't this guy just
get a lawn service? Then all of his problems will be solved, right? I'll tell
you why I don't get a lawn service.
The first reason I don't get a lawn service is the money. I simple can't afford
a lawn service. And secondly, my yard isn't a simple easy yard to mow. My yard,
much like my life, is rather eclectic with gardens and trees and about 14 tons
of decorative rock spread around. Most lawn services refuse to even consider
giving me an estimate. I like my yard the way it is, but hate the work involved
in keeping it the way it is. Are we all on the same page now?
Now, as to my dog. My sweet little Chow dog, (I know they are considered mid-sized
dogs and not little dogs, but he barely reaches my knee in height so I consider
him to be little, not in the way a Poodle is little, or a Pomeranian is little,
but to me he's my little fellow) was acting on his natural born instinct, the
coding in his DNA, when he went after a rodent in the ivy. His natural born
instincts tell him rodents, squirrels, rabbits, certain politicians, are things
to be chased and possibly killed if caught. Now this is behavior I do not approve
of, except in the case of politicians, but again that's another story.
Well, my Chow, Zeus is his name, managed to get a hold of said pestilence (I
didn't check to see if it was a mouse, rat or politician). Now I witnessed this
with both a sense of pride and revulsion, and acted on the latter. Figuring
he was going to eat the thing which was carrying who knows what diseases, and
later lick my face with affection, I did something terribly stupid. I grabbed
him by the back of the neck.
Now for future reference, a Chow has two layers of fur. The outer coat, which
is longer and gives him the fluffy look, and the undercoat, which is very similar
to that of sheep and very close to the skin. Chows are winter weather dogs,
another topic he and I disagree on, but that's another story.
As I said, I grabbed him by the neck. I was really reaching for his harness,
but missed and got two layers of fur and a handful of skin. He yelped, and released
the vermin. Turning his attentions to the arm and wrist which were hurting him,
he grabbed hold and sunk his teeth into said arm. Ouch!
Okay, it isn't a good idea to grab a dog when he is acting on his instinctual
behaviors. He is a tamed animal, just as human beings are tamed animals on a
higher degree, but when DNA instinctual behavior kicks in, well, there are just
some behaviors you can't change. It would be like trying to mate him with a
cat instead of other dogs.
Okay, for those who can't see where this is going, I'll spell it out for you.
D-N-A. Deoxyribo nucleic acid is the basic chromosomal material which transmits
patterns of heredity and general behavior. It is widely believed in the scientific
community, and much of society in general, homosexuality is part of some DNA
strands. It is not a disease but simply another variation of life on the planet,
just as dog, coyote, and wolf are all variations of canine.
You may try to control the instinctual behaviors of animals, and nature itself,
as I do every time I mow the lawn, but you can't control natural instincts.
The grass grows, the dog bites, the bee stings. For me as a gay male, pursuing
relations with another gay male is perfectly natural behavior. And while some
homosexuals might be willing to live a closeted life because others in society
find their behavior offensive, I am a naturalist. All I want is the freedom
to romp in the discos with other homosexuals, and perhaps meet up with a compatible
mate with whom I can share all aspects of my life.
You can't control nature, and shouldn't even try, because when you do you'll
either wind up exhausted and have to do the whole thing all over again in a
week or ten or you'll get yourself bitten. Human beings are animals, and homosexuals
are human beings, and animals are capable of biting when someone tries to enforce
a change in the natural behavior of the animal.
My dog taught me a lesson in acceptance of those things I cannot change. I'm
a gay man. Don't mess with my natural instinctual behavior, or I just might
have to teach those same lessons my dog taught me.