I meditated for one hour this morning in the living room as the sun was coming up. I hadn’t really noticed that my three dogs – Bud, Zinnia, and Fate – had done what the best dogs do and surrounded me with love, silence, and companionship. They aren’t trained to do it; they just know how. I spent much of the hour this morning thinking about what has been done to dogs by their corporatization- they make many millions of dollars from our love of them.

Bud figured out he could sit in my lap and be warm. I never invited him, or kicked him out.

In my lifetime, I’ve been sorry to see dogs become corporatized and emotionalized. They have nothing to do or figure out but how to be stupid, beg for food, and smile for snacks.

The core of almost everything in modern America is money; everything that comes close to a Corporation becomes instantly corporatized and emotionalized, so people will be ready to spend a lot of money when it is suggested that dogs could and should live forever.

When vets worked alone, they didn’t expect to get rich caring for animals. Now, they insist on caring for them for money. They talk all kinds of people into spending thousands of dollars on a love that was once almost free. My father loved dogs; they lived in the car, ate the food we didn’t, and never saw a vet.

It’s no longer possible to bring a dog to a vet without spending three or four hundred dollars, often more.

Suddenly, vets are offering expensive surgery for cancer and a dozen other things, anywhere from $500 to $15,000 just for the tests.

I refuse to spend that on my dogs; I’d rather euthanize them than treat them like human beings and treat them the way many elderly Americans are treated in hospitals. If they can’t live naturally and painlessly, I just put them down as soon as I can. My job is to keep them out of pain.

Neither do I mourn my dogs when they die. I love them dearly, but as their steward, I won’t let them suffer invasive surgeries that they can’t understand or approve of and that I can’t afford.

When my dogs die, I cry a bit, bury their ashes, and go out and get another dog. I don’t mourn my lost dogs or remember them for years on Facebook or pity myself; I am grateful for them, and I know there are millions of dogs out there who would love to come and live with Maria and me. We take great care of them.

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Cats are more complex; letting them out can be dangerous to birds and all kinds of small creatures, but Barn Cats like Zip kill off the rats and mice that threaten farm animals with disease. They’ve lived on their own for centuries, figuring out how to hunt, eat, and work with safety and savvy. They guard the barns. They are amazing, mystical creatures.

When I got Zip, the Animal Rights Ignoramus Department nearly melted down; one even called the police and demanded Zip be seized because he wasn’t sleeping in the house in the winter. The heated cat house in the Barn didn’t mean a thing to them. I was shocked by their ignorance.

Zip was deemed unable to survive cold, snow, or storms, even though that’s where he thrives and roams.

Cats are also denied the opportunity to learn anything about life, but the environments are different. If I lived in a city, I would let Zip roam, but he is a creature of nature, and I will always defend his right to be free while he protects our farm and lives his life.

The animal rights movement has been successful at forcing out or killing all of the working animals in America who work or worked with people. It is a travesty and a tragedy; the only working animals in America will only be seen in zoos and on YouTube. It’s heartbreaking to think about. No child will ever touch one.  The lesson is that animals benefit when people who care for them know something about them.

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It’s difficult for a dog to be a dog any longer, as they have shifted their purpose…they aren’t usually about hunting or protection; they have moved to the social nursing of lonely or needy people who see them as human children. They are rarely permitted to explore the world. America is among the most anxious countries in the world. People need help.

 I can’t help but think of the greatest dog book I’ve ever read, Jack London’s The Call Of The Wild (1903). It’s the story of Buck, the dog, who is loyal to his owner, John Thornton, who is killed by a group of Yeehat natives — after that, with the last human bond severed, Buck answers “the call of the wild” and joins a wolf pack, living out his life as a wild animal.

The book is a tribute to the loyalty and connection of dogs and humans, an almost lost ideal in our times. In America, everything is about money, including the vets who willingly bend to corporate greed like the rest of the country. It’s probably the most influential dog-goes-wild story ever written, and the emotional meaning — the master’s death freeing the dog to return to instinct—is exactly what I was thinking about this morning.

I’m nothing like John Thornton, and my dogs are nothing like Buck; the connection touched me.

I kept thinking of the need for dogs to be dogs and the sadness of that lost idea. I know dogs are no longer permitted to do the things they used to do with and for their humans. I train my dogs diligently, but joining my meditation and supporting it can’t be taught.

Without my dogs, I would never have been so alone writing books or so safe living in the country.  When I was lonely, they were there. When I got lost in the woods, they brought me home. When I wrote, they sat by my side.  I consider their runaway emotionalizing an insight into their wonder and natural brilliance. They are not about greed, misery, and mourning; they are about service and a very special kind of love.

Dogs rarely can run free, have sex, or grow smarter by learning about nature. They rarely get the chance to be smarter about anything, and get dumber and more neurotic all the time- and very expensive. I’ll never forget my dog Rose, a border collie who took over supervising my farm,  something I knew nothing about.

I try hard to let my dogs be dogs, and I thought of this while they sat still – Bud in my lap, Zinnia by my feet, and Fate looking on. They never moved, barked, or wagged their tail. They seemed to grasp, as dogs do when left to think a bit, what I was doing and the importance of being quiet and letting me think.

They are not my children, not my furbabies, not my babies of any kind. Comparing dogs and cats to human children is a revolting idea for me.

Dogs are loving creatures who exist to be with us and who share our love when we need love or company.

When I’m writing, Zinnia comes into my office and lies down behind my desk and never moves a muscle until I turn off the computer, often hours after she came in.

If I let dogs be dogs, they figure out things I didn’t need to teach them – stay far from traffic, never run in the street, avoid dangerous animals, melt quietly into my life.

I am so grateful to have these dogs around . They thrive on work and support my life in every way.

When they die, I will be very happy to give thanks for them and get online in seconds to buy another one.