by Ted L Glines
We are moving into a period when more and more people are reaching out to care for the ills of our multi-legged friends. And not just dogs and cats. No. Blue Jay babies which always fall out of their nests in the Spring are being housed and fed by volunteers in the High Sierras, before being released back into their natural habitat when they can fly.
To see this is heart-warming. But, as people begin to care more, we also see a growing proliferation of critter maladies. As always, supply moves to fill each growing demand.
Recently we saw in a London tabloid where dogs which had lived at the Pound, or at SPCA shelters, were being treated for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Such canines seem to experience depression and may even exhibit suicidal tendencies or become homeless drug addicts. With proper medication and therapy, recovery is sometimes possible.
But our hearts go out to the latest creature-casualty; the cross-eyed spider. As children, we all experimented with crossing our eyes. What fun! And it drove our parents batty. But we only have two eyes. Imagine how it must feel to be a cross-eyed spider, with eight eyes! Gosh, each one of those eyes has no idea about which OTHER eye it is crossed with. Eight crossed eyes, all wandering in search of their elusive mates. Terrible situation. Cross-eyed spiders are known to become highly grumpy, and are often confined in mental institutions. You can find them, up there in a shadowed ceiling corner, lurching about and talking to themselves. This is great therapy for the human patients, who attentively listen to the talking spiders.
Recently in a Behavioral Science Symposium in Los Angeles, four scientists put their heads close together and all four of them crossed their eight eyes, simply to show their colleagues the reality of this heartbreaking situation.
Congress is currently working on a $3 trillion dollar Cross-Eyed Spider Relief Bailout Bill (C-ESRBB). No pork.
I would write more about this fascinating topic but I must break off and go to the hospital - emergency surgery to remove my tongue which has somehow gotten trapped in my cheek.