Damn Anthropomorphation Anyway!

This is a question that has bothered me ever since I found myself teaching my children about farm animals and the sounds they make.

Why do we train our children to believe that animals are just humans in fur coats? I mean, I found a cute open-the-flaps book back when the Pony was about 2, and the whole text was about what animals say, and the pictures were cute. Darling even. Because the animals all looked like babies do--big eyes and heads, doing cute things. Not necessarily animal behaviors, though.

And, as I was going through this book with my toddler, I wondered why animal sounds are so important? I mean, we live in the city--it's not like cows and pigs and chickens etc. are part of my children's daily lives. The acutal animals might not even be part of their lives at all--if it weren't for a pig roast we attend each year at the Fourth of July, my kids might not ever see a whole pig.

And there I was, teaching my kid to "talk" with animals. Why? I asked myself, Why why why?

Of course, I'm totally anthropomorphizing animals all the dang time. I "know" better, but I still do it.

Why is it such a big deal? Well you might ask!

Because when it comes time to actually deal with animals, I totally suck, because I see them as little people.
The problem is because at the moment, we have mice in our house. Not a big surprise, really--this house was built at the end of the nineteenth century, winters are cold here, and mice are small. They find ways into the house through tiny tiny tiny cracks, and once they are in they Breed! Like! Mice!

Now, I don't have anything against mice per se. My sister, the Fabulous Babe, had at least one pet mouse when she was a kid, and I certainly held it and played with it. Mice as pets are okay, or they were, until their wild relatives took up residence in my house. MY house, not THEIR house.

The real problem with these wild mice is that they totally fail to Respect The Social Contract. I am willing to share my house with them, so long as they keep themselves hidden. But! They don't! NO! They have to run around and leave their droppings in their paths. They chew cords and short out appliances, and they chew the kidlet's stuffed animals to get nest materials. And they eat the guinea pig's food. And they get into everything!

So, they have to go. They just do. But so many rodent removal techniques are so cruel, especially if you think of them as little Beatrix Potter tailors who wear little vests and eyeglasses. They are VERMIN! I KNOW THIS! They are The Enemy! But I just can't bring myself to use glue pads, that stick their feet to the ground until they starve. I can't bring myself to set traps to snap their necks--I don't want to remove carcasses. Plus, those sometimes only maim them, which is even worse.

I tried live traps. Even caught a fair number of them, and found myself putting them into a bucket with some kibble and water until I could release them into some woods. Which I did, only to see a bird swoop down and snatch the little critter with its talons for lunch.

Instead, I was convinced to use a certain kind of poison--which is supposed to dehydrate them, forcing them out into the snow for a water source, where they are supposed to die. Except they don't leave the house. They just get sick and die where we have to remove them, or where we find them later, or where we never find them. I'm not even ready to decide which is worse, and I pull my perogative to behave like a squeamish girl and make Mr. Sweetie deal with them.

Except now, he's not home. And just now, in the middle of the bright afternoon, a little mouse appeared in my kitchen, all hunkered down, looking tiny and terribly vulnerable. This must have been one sick mouse, as my dog came right up to it, wagging his tail with curiosity. Is this a new friend? Will it play with me? Is it a toy? What should I do with it?

I put it in a container and dumped it outside into the freezing winter. I couldn't bring myself to seal it inside the container to suffocate, and I couldn't finish it off myself. So I 'm hoping it dies quickly in the cold where I will never ever ever have to see it or know what happened.

But I do still have this stupid Tom and Jerry kind of reaction--I should pick it up and take care of it! Meanwhile, another primal part of my brain is screaming "EWWWWWWW! YUCK! Get it away from me! EEEEEEKKKKK!"

Damn anthropomorphation!