“Lassie,” the TV show (featuring a male collie known as
“Lassie,” and a male human child, known as "Timmy,") shaped my
earliest interest in anthrozoology. This show puzzled me as a young child. From
the zoological, or animal-based, aspect, I wondered: Why was a male dog used to
portray Lassie? Why was this dog so obedient, despite being repeatedly referred
to as “Girl?” Why was the dog always looking past “Timmy” while he was
addressing “her?” Focusing on the other side of my lines of questioning, the
“anthro” or human part, I pondered: Why were people willing to make shows that
fooled children like me about dogs? Why did Timmy constantly get into
avoidable trouble and then repeatedly require Lassie to bail him out? Were dogs
actually smarter than human children, as this show implied?
I performed experiments.
I had a collie of my own, named Blue, with
whom I reenacted some pretend endangerment scenarios, similar to those Timmy
was always getting himself into. Luckily, being smarter than Timmy or his
script writers, I took the safe route, calling for help from various ground-level
hiding places. Despite compelling performances, Blue totally ignored me. Had I
been dumb enough to climb into a well, I’d still be rotting there. Not
satisfied with results from my one research subject, I tried similar
experiments with many neighbors' dogs and discovered the same discrepancy
between Lassie and real dogs. One time, maybe, they took the bait and came
looking; after that I was an odd kid who couldn't find her own way out from
behind a garage.
I realize, now, the
scientific merit of my childhood experiments was totally lacking, yet they
still came to meaningful fruition, introducing the budding lens of
anthrozoological inquiry. And though
Blue never tried to save me, I owe him, my neighbors’ dogs, and especially
Lassie gratitude for launching me into a well of curiosity that became—and
remains--my lifelong field of study.
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