Shut Up! (Yes, we say “shut up”)

I miss my German shepherd. I’m a dog guy. They’re good company and the house felt safer having four-legged security. But I do have a dog, kind of. It was a package deal when I got married. “Flower.” And as you’d surmise from the name, she’s bunny-like small, needing an escort to venture into the yard for a duty-run. This is a critter that shivers, peeking both ways out the door for an all-clear before stepping into the daunting jungle that is my manicured back yard. But when you’re three-pounds-tiny I suppose even robins and squirrels are terrifying. (In case you still haven’t conjured a complete mental image, this is an animal that jumps and runs to the next room and hides behind a chair when the toaster pings.) But she’s cute. And like naughty toddlers, cuteness helps me overlook the fact that she wears a pink diaper and smells like an old sneaker.

As a dog owner I try to be a good adoptive “parent.” After all, pets are like little kids, needing attention, care, love, and patience. I get it. What I don’t get is the recent pet role-reversal I’m seeing now everywhere I go. What started as service animals for the handicapped has morphed into “emotional support animals” that supposedly help the unchallenged cope with the stresses of life; you know, like going on a plane ride or getting a burger, calmed by their “support hamster.” And here I thought “safe space” coloring books and Play-Doh were the nerve-calming antivenin for daily ravages endured by the millennial snowstorm.

When I lived in Milwaukee I remember seeing a blind guy at McDonalds with a seeing eye dog. (Not an emotional support animal. The guy was blind. He had a red and white stick and the dog was wearing a harness and cape.) I remember thinking how cool it was that this well behaved dog patiently served as the young guy’s eyes. I ended up talking with him because his dog “Ben” got confused by all of the glass panels and couldn’t find the exit. The dog actually looked embarrassed by the rookie mistake. His handler was understanding, joking that Ben was better with stoplights.

But Ben’s owner had a real, clearly defined need. A physical deficit. The guy fearlessly left his home every day – in Milwaukee – and faced the reality of being sightless, guided by his four-legged companion. But how did the emotional support animal craze happen? When as a culture did we become so emotionally fragile that we need hamsters and ferrets to help us cope with the unbearable stress of stepping out of the confines of our homes? And where’s the line in the sand with this craziness? Are we headed for emotional support animals at school and work to help the nervous masses cope with everyday life? (I’m still trying – unsuccessfully – to accept daycare centers in high schools.) And honestly, this demographic is already too distracted, if not completely beyond overwhelmed, by their cellular addiction. Perhaps they’d be less stressed if they were forced to focus ON ANYTHING other than social media.

And what’s their stress? They’re not living (or serving) in the war-torn Middle East, where the specter of death and violence is persistent. As evidenced by media coverage of their meltdowns (I mean “protests”) they appear to be emotionally distraught over a new fiscally and socially responsible political movement. Kinda like a brat in a grocery store that has a tantrum over a pack of gum. But these brats are used to their parents being background music; where “no” really means “yes” (post-tantrum).

It’s past time for an indefinite moratorium on this kind of stupidity. Rational elements of society (yeah, us) need to stand up, raise our voices and simply say, “NO!” Look, if you need to bring a Vietnamese pot belly pig in order to board a commercial aircraft, I don’t want your crazy-ass self on the plane. Again, just because a small fraction of our population has been coddled and indulged into marshmallow mental softness doesn’t mean we have to accept it. If enough people say “NO!” everywhere and every time to this kind of stupidity, these fads will fade away.

I think this all started when we stopped saying “shut up.” I remember when we acted or said something stupid we were told to shut up. Even by teachers. That stopped with the new “social awareness” that children were being permanently and irreparably damaged by harsh words… like “shut up.” When time-outs were thought more effective than the immediate “draconian” behavioral correction of a swat on the pants.

From the anti-shut up movement we’ve devolved into a thin-skinned, anything goes, emotional-support-animal, safe space, tear-stained Crayola culture. This is going to take a revolution. A “SHUT UP!” revolution. Maybe we can make posters, hats, and t-shirts… with skulls!