To Pet or Not To Pet

Been pondering some deep subjects lately.... life, death, seasons, love. And gerbils. Many years ago, in a galaxy far, far away, my children started out with a couple of gerbils. Two.  No one told me that they cranked out new baby gerbils every few milliseconds. Before long we were supplying darling pets for friends, relatives, pet stores and strangers on the street. 

We were in a very busy time of life -- homeschooling our four children, attempting to preserve the lives of said Norton creatures that had been born with the propensities of wild monkeys. Ken says they were products of fine breeding, and I guess that folks say that about Mustangs on the prairie too. Either way, gerbils were way down on the list of priorities. They were caged up, most days, in an old aquarium with a screen on top. I'll save the escapee stories for another day. But since guilt is my favorite woe, I began to feel sorry for the neglected gerbils. Sure, they were fed and watered. Occasionally I'd clean the bedding out and put new, fluffy cedar chips in there. I felt terrible, because nobody was petting them. I assumed that all creatures, human and otherwise, wanted and needed to be petted.

I'd pull one out of the cage. Adorable little things, with their little twitchy noses and strange, long tails. Since they were always reproducing, we had myriads of color combinations. They were bigger than mice but definitely cuter. I'd try to keep them from jumping out of my hands and almost always ended up getting bitten. One time one of them took a chunk out of my finger, with much bleeding and sorrow. I assumed that they just needed more attention, more petting. I kept trying. And trying. 

One day, my wise sister Melanie said, "Rose, did you ever think maybe they don't like to be petted?" 

I never considered that. 

And that led to another notion. Mel said that there are a lot of PEOPLE that don't want to be petted. This was a novel wrinkle in my space-time-continuum. Was that why the librarian hated me? I so wanted to love her, since she was the purveyor of all the books. And the post office lady...I had been rebuffed so many times, even though I twinkled and offered candy and my sincere devotion. Then there was the disgruntled baroness (well, I think she must have been a baroness) who sat next to me on that committee...did she simply want to be left alone, never to know the joy of a little coiffure-ruffling? 

This was a sad day. All those pretty songs say "All You Need Is Love," or "Love Can Build a Bridge," then "Love Will Keep Us Together." Affirming, empowering words to inspire us all. But as I thought about my poor finger, I remembered those other ones: "What About Love?" and "Love Stinks," and of course the apropos "Bleeding Love." Maybe not everyone really wants to be loved. Or petted. Why? I know not. These things go beyond my current brain waves. I really tried hard, with that post office lady. I'm still tempted to squeeze her hand and give her a big hug. That might just put her over the edge, so for now, I let people pass me in line when I see that I'm going to be stuck in her queue. But then again, tomorrow is another day...