"The kids, like all kids, loved the dog and I just want to say this,
right now, that regardless of what they say about it, we're going to
keep the dog."
Richard M. Nixon
In the autumn of 1995, I made a gallant attempt to get arrested by
the National Park Service during the showdown between President Clinton
and the Conmgress which led to the big federal shutdown. I drove all
over Arches National Park and could not find a ranger to place me in
custody.
During the second shutdown in December, my good friend Dr. Reggie
Gubbins arrived from England and knowing how much he loved Arches National
Park, I decided to break the rules again. Reggie was accompanied by
his 110 pound dog Bruce; the two of them are inseparable (although Reggie
insists they're "just good friends"), and I didn't feel like arguing
with him, so we loaded Bruce into the back of my Yuppie Scummobile and
made our way illegally into the park via the Old Entrance Road.
But this time, I was luckier and I owe it all to Bruce. I am convinced
that, had we not brought the dog along, we would have escaped unscathed
yet again. But you see...rangers hate dogs. They can smell them. Even
from a distance. It's some kind of instinctive thing with those people.
It's weird.
We were exploring the area near the Delicate Arch Viewpoint. I wanted
Reggie to see all the good things the NPS had done for (and to) Arches
since his last visit. After all, the new 1.5 mile road and associated
viewpoints, bridges and parking lots only cost $4 million. Meanwhile,
Bruce was doing what dogs do best; he was frolicking and exhibiting
the kind of unrestrained happiness that all of us long for....as happy
as a pig in a wallow...that was Bruce. I believe he had just put his
nose in an antelope ground squirrel hole and snorted a couple of times
when a voice cracked the stillness of this lovely winter day.
It was Ranger Karen McKinley Jones in full combat gear and she'd caught
us dead-to-rights. She was still more than a hundred yards away when
she ordered us to return to the parking lot and we considered making
a run for it, but then thought better of it. We met Karen face-to-face
a few minutes later. Bruce came bounding out of a ravine ready to slobber
all over Ranger Jones' loden green pants, not to mention her standard
issue, Browning 9 mm leather gun belt (complete with gun).
To her credit Ranger Jones was as tolerant and patient as we had the
right to hope for. She was, in fact, downright pleasant (and besides
I may, in the future, very well break park rules again, so there was
nothing inappropriate about doing a little "sucking up" at this point).
Karen issued me a "courtesy tag" for entering a "closed area," in this
case the entire park. And she gave reggie a verbal warning about the
dog. We left humbly, promising that if we ever did return to the park
while it was closed and let a dog run freely, we'd be more discreet
about it.
In the days that followed, my Deep Throat inside sources told me there
was quite an uproar over the incident (God, those rangers need some
new hobbies). No one was particularly upset about the illegal entry;
since the November article about my attempts to get arrested, the park
people sort of expected me to try again.
But the dog. The DOG! That was going too damn far. Some of the other
law enforcement rangers were furious that a real citation hadn't been
issued. With a FINE by golly! Even the normally mild-mannered, even-tempered
Superintendent Noel Poe was steamed under the collar. "If it had been
me that caught them," he is alleged to have muttered to a friend of
mine, "they wouldn't have gotten off so easy."
Maybe they should have just burned us at the stake and been done with
it.
But seriously, how is it possible that an animal like this can cause
such outrage? It's time we took another look at dogs, the way they deserve
to be looked at. In fact, the question is, who really deserves the free
reign of our national parks? Dogs or humans? Going further, who deserves
a free reign of Mother Earth herself? Who ultimately will treat the
planet and us, for that matter, with more respect, compassion, and kindness
than a dog?
"Let dogs delight to bark and bite, for God hath made them so."
Isaac Watts
1715
To be specific so as to make my point, let's look at the Park Service's
irrational hatred of dogs. Their complaint is that dogs are not a part
of the natural park environment. They disrupt wildlife and trample the
vegetation. They sometimes bark at night. And they crap on the trail
when their owners thoughtlessly (and illegally) allow their dogs on
the trail. That is the sum total of their grievance.
To each one of these complaints, I plead on behalf of my canine brothers
and sisters: Guilty as charged...what's your point?
I mean...really guys...is that the best you can do? It reminds me
of the song Alice's Restaurant, when the sergeant asks Arlo if he's
"moral enough to join the Army" after being convicted of throwing garbage
in an undesignated area. Arlo replies, "You wanna know if I'm moral
enough to join the Army, burn women and kids' houses and villages after
bein' a litterbug...you gotta lotta damn gall."
So here are the dogs, doing what comes naturally. After all, they're
a hell of a lot closer to the natural world than we are. But dogs don't
throw their beer cans out the window or carve their names on rocks.
They don't plow 4-wheel drive vehicles across cryptobiotic soils, they
don't whine about the cost of camping, and they don't plug up the toilets
in the campground at 1 AM and then complain to the ranger to fix it.
They didn't ask anyone to pave the park with miles and miles of asphalt
so they could see it quicker, nor did they demand a visitor center or
comfort stations. And they sure as hell didn't want to spend $4 million
dollars on a new 1.5 mile road to the Delicate Arch Viewpoint.
I sometimes overstate my case...Am I making my point here?
If not, then let me be more succinct...who's more deserving of having
their butts kicked out of Arches National Park: The Dogs? Or we sorry-ass
humans? I think the choice is quite clear.
"Heaven goes by favor. If it went by merit, you would stay out and
your dog would go in."
Mark Twain
The simple fact is, dogs are better than we could ever hope to be.
And smarter too. I can personally attest to that fact. When I moved
away to college, my parents replaced me with a twelve pound Westhighland
Terrier named...may the Great Hairy Thunderer forgive them...Duniwassel.
I was unprepared for the shock when I went home unexpectedly one weekend
and was viciously attacked by my furry successor. He went right for
my ankles and I screamed, "For the love of God, take out its batteries!"
as my mother rushed in from the den.
Ma scooped up the little rat dog and held him proudly for me to inspect.
The dog relaxed smugly in my mother's arms, secure in the notion that,
in a few short weeks, he was held in higher esteem than their first
born son, despite the fact that he never showed a consistent interest
in house training himself and he had bad breath.
Duniwassel's superiority complex annoyed me and left me feeling inadequate
at times. But it wasn't until I came to know my own dog, some years
later, that I truly appreciated the genius of dogs.
Muckluk was a husky-shepherd mix and could have done anything in the
world if she'd just had opposing thumbs. In her early days, I worried
that she would eat herself to death before she ever reached her full
potential---not just massive quantities of food, but hats, the front
seat to my car (she ate the arm rests for hors d'oeuvres)...whatever
was handy.
But with age came maturity and a wisdom that I had never observed
in a dog before. It became apparent after a while that my dog was a
freakin' genius.
One day we were exploring canyons in Arches near the Fiery Furnace.
We came to a narrow, twisting slot canyon; Muck peered in to its dark
and gloomy depths, sauntered over to an old juniper tree, stretched
out in its shade and went to sleep. I commanded her to follow (she always
thought that was pretty funny...me commanding her.), but
she merely raised an eyebrow, shrugged apathetically, and rolled over
on her side. I started up the canyon alone, only to discover it boxed
out less than a hundred yards up the dry wash. When I returned, Muck
rose wearily and moved on.
As time passed I learned to watch Muckluk's assessment of a canyon
before I attempted it on my own, because somehow she knew...the
damn dog knew it boxed out. How did she do that? She never told me
And Muckluk was not impressed by celebrity. She managed to maintain
her dignity even when I flushed mine down the toilet. Once, I met Robert
Redford in a cafe' in Hanksville. All I could manage to say to the man
was, "Next to the Wizard of Oz, Jeremiah Johnson was my favorite movie."
Redford looked at me with utter disdain. He was about to walk away when
he saw Muckluk.
"That's a beautiful dog you have," said Bob.
He leaned over to pat her on the head. Muckluk glanced over her shoulder
at the great Redford, devastated him with her scornful look (much more
devastating than the look he gave me) and walked casually into the shade
of my car. I'm surprised she didn't pee on him, just for added effect.
While I admit, not all dogs are as intelligent as Muck was, they are
still, from everything I've been able to observe over the years, a far
superior species to the bi-pedal creatures that claim to be dogs' masters.
Therefore I can only conclude that human attempts to restrict dogs and
deny them freedoms taken for granted by us are nothing but sad examples
of petty jealousy and a manifestation of our own insecurity.
And yet it continues. I don't mean to keep picking on my former employers
the National Park Service, but they continue to provide such good examples
of the kind of discrimination I'm talking about. Recently the NPS established
a new rule that says park visitors cannot take pets in a car on any
gravel, dirt, or 4-wheel drive road. Even if the dog stays in the car.
Even if the owner only lets the dog out to take a leak. Even if it's
on a leash. Even if the road is miles and miles away from the nearest
hint of civilization.
It's okay for the vehicle to be there, burning gas, belching fumes,
and making noise. It's okay for the driver and a load of human passengers
to come along for the ride. They can jump out of the vehicle and howl
like coyotes, but they can't bring their pup along who can howl a lot
more effectively. You see what I mean?
I've spent a lot of time thinking about this dilemma. I've been trying
to think of a way the Park Service could admit their mistakes and do
it without losing face...they hate to do that. I think I have the answer.
Dogs are needed in national parks to maintain the balance of nature
and allow the continued evolution of the many species that reside there.
Consider Arches National Park in its most pristine state, free from
human intrusions. Deer and antelope and desert bighorn roam the canyons
and valleys. Rodents of all kinds scurry in and out of shadows in the
sandstone cracks and crevices. But predators wander the park as well---mountain
lions, bobcats, coyotes, foxes---all maintaining the natural balance
of things.
But what happened? Predator populations have been decimated over the
years. Trappers, subsidized by another agency of the federal government,
Animal Damage Control, are known to trap right to the boundary of the
park. A few years ago, a local trapper claimed to have trapped and killed
four bobcats, fourteen kit foxes, and too many coyotes to count, along
the northeast edge of Arches in just a few weeks. Some of them were
trapped literally within sight of boundary signs.
Now consider the animals that these victims prey upon. Let's consider
the cottontail rabbit, for example. The rabbit's natural defense against
predators is speed. It can outrun its pursuer most of the time. That's
why the species has survived. What if you removed the rabbit hunter
from the environment? What would happen to the evolutionary process
that gave the rabbit this defense mechanism?
Without coyotes and lions to chase rabbits, they'd have no need to
be fast. They'd lose that edge. They'd start watching tv and eating
snack foods. They'd become big, fat slobs. Tourists would start mistaking
rabbits for Rush Limbaugh. And there would be so damn many of them.
What's the solution? That's easy. Until we can restore predator populations
to their natural levels, we must find a way to keep their prey in shape.
And what better way to do that than to turn the dogs loose in national
parks to harass the wildlife to their hearts' content? In fact, we can't
even call it "harassment." We can feel good when we let dogs chase rabbits
because we're helping nature by allowing dogs to serve as surrogate
predators. It's a good thing.
Are there historical examples that could confirm this theory? Look
at the Hereford cow. Isn't it possible that at one time the Hereford
was a sleek, graceful, agile creature that could prance rings around
a gazelle? Until, for unknown reasons, the predator that pursued them
was eliminated?
And yet discrimination against dogs is rampant in contemporary society.
Dogs are required to go to a separate doctor (although if the truth
were known, I'd prefer to be examined by a vet), they're not
allowed on airplanes...they have to fly freight, for cryin' out loud.
FREIGHT! Even environmentalists hate dogs. I remember the Earth First!
Rendezvous a few years ago. They banned dogs from the festivities. Here
was a bunch of remnant hippies...beer-swilling, bearded, hairy-legged
eco-freaks, chanting obscene slogans and urinating on Ponderosa Pine
trees, but dogs were not allowed because they weren't a part of "the
natural scene." Indeed.
Something should be done on behalf of the dogs...something must
be done.
And that's it. End of pro-dog diatribe. If none of this has moved
you, if you still consider dogs to be nothing more than slobbering inconveniences,
if you still regard yourselves the intellectual and moral superior to
the lowly canine, then at least remember these words by the immortal
Mark Twain when he observed:
"If you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous, he will not
bite you. This is the principle difference between a dog and a man."