Pets. They're good for you. Providing companionship, love, and a healthy Instagram feed, they're also said to lower blood pressure, reduce the risk of allergies and strengthen your heart. They boost our sense of wellbeing, and nothing keeps your routine in check like the structure of regular kitty litter changes.
Oh, pity the poor fool, then, who lives without animals. Lonely souls, with no ear to scratch, or belly to rub, and feeling the full shame of every fart, with no dog under the table to blame.
As a city apartment dweller with an itinerant lifestyle, I can't have a pet. So I'm forced to live vicariously through the companionship of others. Increasingly, I find myself openly staring at other people's dogs on the street. You may have caught me staring at yours. It's become a slightly creepy, but deep-seated habit. What's a dog-less girl to do? I grew up on a farm, surrounded by animals, and there's a pet-sized hole that needs a-filling. I'll take what I can get. Right now, staring at your cavoodle is my only option. Trust me, I've weighed them up.
We live in a shoe box with strict shoe box rules, so a dog or a cat is out of the question. We're still mourning the loss of a much beloved house rabbit (Sandra Bernhard, RIP), so it'll be a while before we can face another lagomorph. And sure, we could get a fish or something, but as we all know, fish aren't real pets, they're what parents buy their children when they don't want the responsibility of a pet. You may as well get a grass head. Thus, my house remains without pets, or even the prospect of any. (We do have a grass head though.)
A "fur-baby" as they're horrifyingly referred to by people who definitely need to get out more, is a big commitment, after all. A disastrous sharehouse dog experience at university (the puppy, a housemate's, arrived unannounced, and proceeded to quadruple in size, taking over our house like a nightmare Clifford), provided sufficient warning for the folly of unprepared city pet ownership. A puppy isn't just for Christmas university break.
Even in the best of circumstances, animals aren't without their difficulties, as my long history of family pets attests: Byron the dog was an only child with behavioural issues; Tom the unimaginatively named cat (I was clearly into cliches as a six-year-old) was prone to mitey ears; Fluffy, Buffy, Snuffy and Duffy the half-beaked rescue battery chickens came with a smorgasbord of mental health concerns (as you can imagine); and Bambi the horse ran like a dog and selfishly died on the same day as Princess Diana.
But despite their idiosyncrasies, they were part of the family. But now I find myself dogless, catless, half-beaked-chicken-less, reduced to a pervy dog watcher, gazing longingly at strangers' best friends, stealing parting glances on the street. I cruise for pats with street cats, and relish the lick from an errant dog at an outdoor cafe. But I know I'm not alone; us desperate pet-wanters are everywhere. I recognise my own type, loitering on street corners, scoping out the end of your leash for a crumb of extra love.
I know all the fur-residents in my neighbourhood, their personalities and backstories. There is a pug in my area that I am convinced can grant wishes. I have no proof, but I can tell from his eyes. Somewhere on the block is a Dulux dog. Who knows, it may even be the Dulux dog (it is a pretty fancy neighbourhood). There's the lonesome schnauzer who hangs off her balcony, the standoffish cat on the sunny part of the stone steps, and the too-tame parrot atop the eccentric man's head.
There are countless others who come and go, friendly faces, visitors, new pups, and, of course, eventually old favourites disappear – when they're sent off to "a farm", I'm sure. I love them all. You could say I Labr-adore them. I'm unabashed and embarrassing in my admiration. Love is love after all.
Just yesterday a woman caught me ogling her dachshund, and gave me what is officially known as "a funny look". But why? Spare a thought for us petless pervs. It's perfectly acceptable to coo over a baby, but people get a bit funny when they catch you flirting with their Frenchie. To be honest, I'm left cold by the sight of your baby in that pram, but positively clucky for that Labrador tied to the handle. And now that we're faced with an unnecessary and hurtful marriage equality debate, the hand-wringing and speculation begins: What of the children? Won't someone think of the bakers? And, most importantly, what next? Will people be marrying dogs?
And to that, I say, would that be such a bad thing? I'm not suggesting anything untoward. All I'm saying is I want to stand up in front of my friends and family and declare my undying love and devotion to your bichon frise. I just want someone to blame my farts on.
Zoe Coombs Marr is a Sydney comedian. Jessica Irvine is on leave. @zoecoombsmarr
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