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Pet Rock

by Peary Perry
Peary Perry
A few weeks back I wrote an article about a grocery chain refusing to sell live lobsters as they were under pressure from PETA to stop this' barbaric' practice. Seems PETA takes the position that killing a lobster is 'inhuman' and to be avoided at all costs.

I think their argument goes along the line that lobsters (also known as roaches of the sea) certainly feel pain and should be spared the brutality of boiling them in hot water. I made the point that everything we eat was alive at one pint in time. I'm sorry to report that all of those tuna fish sandwiches and hamburgers are the result of some animal passing on to the big pasture in the sky. As they say about bacon and eggs, the pig is committed but the chicken is only involved.

I proposed that if we were left to eat only the things that had no feeling, I think that left us with nothing but rocks.

As a result of my insensitivity, I received a number of e-mails from kind folks such as this lady:

"I am shocked by your insensitivity and barbarianism. I am not associated with PETA, but the suggestion of eating family pets has crossed the line. I happen to have a pet rock (she has been with our family for about 30 years now and is still going strong, no signs of needing to send her out to pasture or fill someone's rock burger). I am offended at your article suggesting that my beloved pet rock doesn't have feelings. She is a dear pet that is extremely well behaved with a mellow personality and does not deserve to be on any menu."

I had completely forgotten about pet rocks. I have not thought about them for years and guess I had just figured they had all died out by now, but apparently not. Please forgive me if I have offended you by my oversight. I can only plead ignorance.

I wrote the lady making the above mentioned comment and apologized to her if I had offended her. I told her that I had also been contacted by some folks who had pet trees and pet peeves. I have yet to find out exactly what a pet peeve is, but a lot of people must have them since I heard from a number of folks who started off by telling me that 'one of my pet peeves' is such and such. I'm not certain I quite understand their meaning, so I'll have to do some more research on this one and get back to you at a later date.

Since my article appeared some people wrote me to tell me that they agreed with me on the feelings of carrots and flowers. One woman in Oklahoma wrote and said that she does her housework in the nude and sings to her flowers as she cleans. She went on to say that they appear to listen to her since they turn their little heads toward the sound. It made me think they might have been just sneaking a peek and not hearing her at all. I started to ask her to send me her photo but then figured I'd mess up and be more insensitive if I didn't say the right thing after I saw what she looked like.

You know I seem to recall that the guy who dreamed up the pet rock in 1975 made several million bucks from his idea. I checked Google and there is still a number of web sites devoted to pet rocks along with a retirement home to send your rock if it is causing you trouble or you think it needs a rest. I suppose there is a penal institution somewhere for it if it is convicted.

I'd bet 85% of the people today have never heard of a pet rock…..now might be the time to bring them back…you could always keep one on hand in case you need a snack….

I'm sorry; I just couldn't resist that one…

© Peary Perry
Letters From North America >

June 29, 2006 column
Syndicated weekly in 80 newspapers
Comments go to www.pearyperry.com
Here is a synopsis of my first book…entitled Manuel Muldoon.

At night, Manuel Muldoon, a magna-cum-barely high-school graduate, dreams of two things: leaving Marshlake, Texas, and becoming a successful mystery writer. By day, the often-belittled half-Irish, half-Mexican young man is houseboy to the town's first family of banking: Robert and Nancy Sturmwell and their spoiled daughter Miss Victoria, and sometimes Robert's nephew Jeff and his beautiful wife Erica. With the family away on vacation, Manny agonizes over his first novel and revels in the peace-until the family returns and a contractor sees an arm sticking out of the unfinished swimming pool wall. Framed for one murder, implicated in another, Manny confides in Vicky while evading police and the murderer on a fast-paced, dangerous trip to uncover the truth. A sleepy Texas town, drug money laundering, a jealous roommate, a crooked banker in league with a crooked cop, and a naïve writer to-be converge in Manuel Muldoon.
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