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I was seventeen the first time I really began to understand the concept of ownership. One prized possession became mine. Not my parents’. Not mine to share with my brother. But mine alone. It was a tan 1984 Pontiac Sunbird that cost me every cent I had managed to save from working various after-school jobs. Sure my grandfather laid out the deposit, but I paid him back. “It’s yours now, Erica. Take care of it.” And I did. Along with my name on the title came all the responsibility and entitlement one might expect with ownership. I stapled funky, tie-dyed tapestries to the ceiling ¬– the original had long before been stripped away. Passionately displayed my ideals on bumper stickers and window decals, and even had a bright blue CD player installed. I loved that car. At least as much as one can love an automobile. In retrospect, what I really loved was what the car symbolized: my freedom. As long as I could put gas in the tank, I was free to go wherever my heart desired. And I quickly realized it wasn’t ownership I desired, it was independence. A year later, a friend who knew well my love of animals arrived at my door with a kitten. As a gift, he placed in my hands a tiny ball of black and white fur with whom I fell immediately in love, and christened, Oreo. At the vet, I filled out the necessary paperwork before placing Oreo on the steel table where his little paws struggled for balance. “Oreo?” the vet asked, steadying his little body between his large hands. “Yup,” I shook my head. “And you’re the owner?”“Yes!” I smiled proudly. The doctor nodded once, and then very seriously said, “He’s yours now. Take good care of him.” Instantly, I remembered my grandfather saying the exact same thing about my car. But could I really own Oreo the same way I owned the Pontiac? And just because it was my duty to care for him, did that mean I could do anything I wanted to him – like declaw him as the vet suggested? I was faced with the moral issue surrounding the role of humans in the lives of animals. When used to describe our relationship to non-human animals, the term “owner” is misguided and shortsighted. It implies that like our cars or any other material possession, we have the right to do anything we want to and/or with them. Unfortunately, this way of thinking often perpetuates undeniable cruelty against the animals; dog and cock fighting – both illegal – are sadly still prevalent in our society. And then there is the merciless, unnecessary pain and suffering animals endure daily, that in the eyes of the law, is legal: declawing a cat to preserve a piece of furniture, and devocalizing a dog because barking is bothersome. Billions of animals are tortured, exploited, and killed everyday for food, clothing, experimentation, and ultimately, monetary gain because the law says they are our property; therefore ours to do with what we wish – no matter the desires of the animals themselves. If our behavior is to change, then our thoughts and words must pave the way. As the guardians, companions, and yes, families – not owners – of these animals, we have a moral obligation to consider them as individuals with individual wants and needs. For how many caged birds do you think desire to fly? Fish to swim? We hold no claims over the lives we so brazenly alter and ultimately end. Just as my car was a means to my liberation, the way in which humans regard and treat all other animals can be a means to theirs.
Erica Settino is a long-time yoga teacher and animal activist. Through her teaching, writing, and non-profit organization, Karuna For Animals: Compassion In Action, Inc., she works to promote compassion, non-violence, and kindness for all living beings. www.karunaforanimals.com. |
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