Figure 2.1 Koi are commonly kept in garden ponds for their ornamental beauty
Photograph: Paul C. Wye
Humans bring caged pets into their homes for many reasons, all of which aim to contribute something beneficial to people’s daily lives. From entertainment to ornaments, companions to children’s toys and even as teaching tools, caged pets are expected to fulfil their roles in the human sphere from within the confines of their compact and minimalist spaces; real-life TV shows that can be tuned in or out at human leisure.
Whilst claiming connection and even kinship with the animals we keep in our homes, the care we provide them often refers very little to their own natural histories and behavioural needs, and instead seeks to satisfy human desires and aesthetics (DeMello 2012). It may be more appropriate, therefore, to refer to these animals not as caged pets, but as marginalised companion animals. Animals who, because of their relative minority in the realm of pets – which results in a significant discrepancy in the amount of accessible information, qualified veterinary care and overall resources available to their caretakers – tend to be caged, subjected to lower standards of care and limited by impoverished human conceptions (Drummond 2014). The term nods to the many discordant ways we live with these creatures while acknowledging at least some intention to seek even minimal connections with the caged animals kept in our homes.
Ultimately, marginalised companion animals are captive wild or semi-wild animals (Livingston 1994). The human-constructed environments containing them cannot come close to replicating the physical, mental and social freedoms of their natural habitats. This is justified by the misrepresentation that they are provided with everything they need when given food, water, shelter and some degree of interaction. However, these animals are biologically geared up to forage, reproduce, interact and engage with their environments, and these needs are not eradicated through meagre provisions (Spinka and Wemelsfelder 2011).
Toys for caged pets are big business. Every hamster has a wheel, every bird a swing, every rabbit a chew toy. These are an implicit acknowledgement that the animals confined in cages want or require activity or entertainment. While thus admitting that they have complex needs for occupation and engagement with their surroundings, human caretakers deny marginalised companion animals all but the most rudimentary of existences.
It is generally believed that people receive some benefit from the pets they keep (Friedmann and Son 2009), but are there reciprocal benefits the animals may claim? There are many tensions inherent in the lives of marginalised companion animals that must negotiate living within the human sphere. These animals are usually under-stimulated in their caged environments and can become inactive, antisocial and even physically ill. To humans, they often become boring to watch, difficult with which to interact and a burden for which to care. It may be that, by denying marginalised companion animals their own leisure and enjoyment, we effectively nullify their very purpose or expected contribution to our own. We will explore what all of this means to humans, the animals we keep and our relationships with one another.
Humankind has a long history of caging animals for our pleasure. Ancient civilizations as diverse as the Aztec and Roman empires kept collections of wild animals as symbolic demonstrations of their mastery over the natural world. At the end of the seventeenth century, wealthy Europeans were building extensive private menageries of exotic species as symbols of their wealth and status to exhibit to the socially elite (DeMello 2012). However, it was the beginnings of the Industrial Revolution that saw a major shift in the way caged animals were integrated into Western people’s daily lives.
With a middle class that had increasing access to unprecedented disposable income, keeping caged animals was no longer restricted to the aristocracy. Average families began to bring animals as diverse as birds, tortoises and squirrels into their households, even though the creatures brought them no financial benefit (Thomas 1983). From this point forward, pets in cages became common features in Western family life.
Philosopher Yi-Fu Tuan (1984) believes that our attitude towards pets is a blend of affection and condescension – a protective sense of power over another being. In order for this to be successful, pets must be completely obedient to their caretakers and thus “be as unobtrusive as a piece of furniture” (107). Wild or semi-wild animals that cannot be controlled through this type of coerced compliance must instead be confined to cages or enclosures, but Tuan calls these “admissions of failure” (168), prosthetics that are used in place of the obedience he believes is essential to the nature of a pet.
If, as Tuan suggests, marginalised companion animals are not pets in the same way as are more traditional dogs and cats, what are they and why do we keep them?
Hal Herzog (2010) cites many theories that have been put forth to explain why humans bring animals into their homes, from biophilia, to misfiring of parental instincts, to social contagion, to emulation of the upper class, to the desire to teach children responsibility. In reality, just as marginalised companion animals do not fit neatly into categories such as “pet,” “object,” or “family,” the reasons for keeping them overlap and interweave in messy ways. Herzog justly concludes that while the reasons for keeping such animals ultimately remain unclear, what is clear is that companion animals of all kinds are vitally important in the lives of many people.
Historian Keith Thomas (1983) notes three features that distinguish a pet from other animals: they are allowed into the house; they are named; and they are never eaten. Of the most interest in this chapter is the first feature: pets are allowed in the house. While this could be interpreted as a physical location, in which case most marginalised companion animals easily qualify, it could also be considered a way of living – that animals are integrated into household activities and routines, and allowed relative freedom within the home – in which case, the majority would not. Again, there is some haziness around the “petness” of marginalised companion animals; a tension that belies a discordant relationship between humans and the many other animals with which we live.
What contributions do humans perceive marginalised companion animals make in their lives? While there are an infinite number of nuanced possibilities here, we will highlight four common umbrella reasons that people identify as their chief motivations: animals as ornament, novelty or oddity; as toy, entertainment or diversion; as teaching tool; and as companion or family member.
Some marginalised companion animals are kept primarily as objects of beauty or rarity, making their purpose in human lives one of aesthetics and/or novelty. Often, species that have specialised habitat requirements combined with minimal handling potential will fall into this category, as it can be more difficult for humans to conceive of them fulfilling other major roles.
Fish are a prime example, and are often kept as ornaments (see Figure 2.1). They cannot be held, cuddled or pet without endangering their health, so interaction is typically restricted to observation. As such, they are often displayed for their pleasing beauty and variation, rather than being kept for more interactive purposes or for companionship. Since fish are predominantly treated more akin to decorative objects than to living beings, the level of research and knowledge of their physiology, the veterinary care they receive and their legal protection all reflect their perceived objectivity and is minimal at best (Iwama 2007).
Figure 2.1 Koi are commonly kept in garden ponds for their ornamental beauty
Photograph: Paul C. Wye
Reptiles and amphibians are also frequently kept as spectacles of oddity or exoticism. Caretakers of these species often refer to the animals they keep as being in their “collections,” a term that postures them as being curated rather than cared for. Some species, such as chameleons, are even acknowledged as having better welfare if their constructed habitat allows for them to be almost entirely visually protected (Wilson 2003). Such an animal can surely provide little contribution to humans’ lives, other than through a feeling of pride or accomplishment for the act of keeping such an exotic species in the home.
Parrots, as well, are often considered novelties. While their known intelligence and over-emphasized ability to mimic human speech often sees humans acquire them more as a source of entertainment than as ornaments, their beautiful and brightly-coloured plumage can sometimes lend them to be viewed as mere objects of decoration (AWC, Born Free USA and ASPCA 2006).
Many marginalised companion animals are acquired primarily to provide entertainment or diversion for their human caretakers or their children. While similar to the animals used for ornament or novelty in that they are grossly objectified, they are different in that they are meant to be interacted with, at least minimally, to provide for human enjoyment.
Baby red-eared slider turtles are commonly used as toys or diversions for children in this way. Only 3 cm in diameter they are cute, fit easily in the palm of your hand, and fit into tiny enclosures. However, three quarters of these animals will not survive the first year in the human home due to lack of appropriate environment, diet and medical care (Toland, Warwick and Arena 2012), and they are treated as disposable commodities (see Figure 2.2). Those who do survive will grow to be the size of a dinner plate, and their requirements end up exceeding what most of their caretakers are able or willing to give. Many of these turtles are abandoned in outdoor ponds and wetlands only to die in unsuitably cold environments or wreck ecological havoc in more tropical ecosystems as invasive species (Warwick 1990).
Many people acquire parrots based on the much-touted misconception that they will all talk and mimic human speech, without previously researching what it means to live with an intelligent, wild bird. As only a small percentage of parrots actually can or do “talk,” humans can be disappointed in their new objects of fascination, and these birds often end up severely neglected (Tweti 2008). Those who do mimic human speech are often coerced into talking and performing tricks for their caretakers and their friends (AWC, Born Free USA and ASPCA 2006), while their own needs and desires often go unconsidered.
Figure 2.2 Baby red-eared and yellow bellied turtles waiting to be sold at a Texas warehouse
Photograph: PETA - People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals
Rabbits are marketed as ideal children’s pets due to their relatively small size and perceived gentle natures (Dickenson 2014). This assumption is only strengthened by myriads of canonic children’s literature, such as The Tales of Peter Rabbit, The Velveteen Rabbit and even Winnie the Pooh; tales in which rabbits cross the boundaries of animal, child and toy. Companion rabbits are usually “put away” (put back into their cages) when we are done playing with them, effectively designating times when it is unacceptable (or inappropriate) for them to interact with the family, in much the same way that a child is asked to turn off a video game or clean up their Lego before coming to dinner (Drummond 2014). While many rabbit caretakers intend the animals to be teaching tools for their children, a topic which we will look at next, in truth most are treated as toy objects that are taken out and played with when this suits the child or their parents.
A study conducted by Fifield and Forsyth (1999) illustrated that one of the most popular reasons for acquiring a pet for a child today is “to teach them responsibility and care,” and that this outcome is seen by parents as the primary benefit of pet ownership. Ironically, the children of the parents in this study who acquired a pet specifically for this purpose were actually less likely to participate in caring for the pet, than those who acquired the pet because the child wanted one, or for the purpose of companionship.
Hamsters are often acquired for this purpose, because their typical enclosures fit easily on a small desk or table in a child’s room, and their care is perceived to be minimal. Parents believe that their children will learn to be responsible, empathetic and to care for others by carrying out the basic husbandry needs of the hamsters. However, their logic is flawed. In their natural habitats, hamsters live largely solitary lives. They dig out extensive burrows and run long distances back and forth with foraged food (RSPCA 2016). In the child’s room, the hamster lives in a cage as small as one cubic foot of space, is provided with a shallow layer of substrate and a laboratory wheel for exercise. They are then “socialised” at the child’s whim. In attempting to teach children to be “responsible,” no consideration is given to actually fulfilling the needs of the hamster, providing them with appropriate care for their species, or empathising with their position within the human home. The lesson the child learns has nothing at all to do with the hamster, and everything to do with fulfilling anthropocentric preconceptions.
Another common venue for animals as teaching tools is within the classroom. Classroom pets are used in an attempt to teach children anything from compassion, to a love of nature, to scientific inquiry (Daly and Suggs 2010). Unfortunately, the reality of many classroom pets is that their behavioural needs are all but ignored; they are largely unsupervised and receive erratic care and handling (see Figure 2.3). Many of them are acquired for a particular school year, and end up in shelters when there is no one to care for them over the summer months (WSPA 2011). In these situations, children do not learn what it means to be a certain species or even what it means to care for that species and can often unintentionally learn that animals are disposable and do not require compassion or particular attention to their care.
Many marginalised companion animals are perceived as companions – friends or family members – who fulfill a certain relationship with a developed concept of subjectivity, rather than being actively objectified as novelties, playthings or tools. While this role has traditionally fallen to the prototypical symbolic pets – cats and dogs (Herzog 2010), it has also been extended to many less common species living in the human home.
Photograph: Ruthann Arletta Drummond
Most often, larger species such as rabbits and some parrots will fall into this category. Their physical size enables them to interact with humans in particular ways and to gain some freedom of movement within the home, even if highly supervised and restricted. While by no means exclusive (many rats, geckos and innumerable other species have been considered by their caretakers to be companions), most small, and/or environmentally-sensitive species spend too much time physically isolated from their caretakers for a companion relationship to form.
The greatest contradiction for marginalised companion animals lies in the human expectation that they fulfill their role as companions from within the confines of their cages. When and how they are interacted with is almost entirely human-driven, as are almost all aspects of their lives – what they eat, what activities to which they have access or in which they are allowed to participate, and what behaviours are considered appropriate for them to express within the home. It is worth asking if such a one-sided relationship is truly companionable.
In the next section we will take a closer look at the contradictions that exist between the human-perceived and the actual lived experience of marginalised companion animals who are navigating the human sphere, and what the implications of these contradictions are for our relationships with one another.
Anthrozoologist Hal Herzog (2010) believes that when people consider the idea of “pet,” their minds conjure up images of cats and dogs. These two species have become symbolically “pet,” and their characteristics have turned into prototypes of “petness”: universal representations of all companion species. But these generalisations are misleading. While dogs and cats are indeed domesticated, marginalised companion animals are, in fact, wild or semi-wild animals who have found themselves living in the human domestic sphere. The significance of this distinction is profound when it comes to how we understand, relate to and care for the animals in our lives. Wild animals undoubtedly have different needs and are subject to different stressors than their domesticated contemporaries, and classifying them or thinking of them, as is so often done, as “domesticated” ignores these differences. Over time, the integration of this incongruous terminology (and way of thinking) into marginalised companion animal discourse has changed the way we consider these creatures and has virtually eliminated any recognition of the tensions created when animals are appropriated from the wild for the purpose of becoming “pets.”
Living in the human home as a domesticated animal is materially different from living in the home as a captive, wild animal. While domesticated animals have been bred specifically with adaptation to the human environment in mind (DeMello 2012), wild animals have to contend with a natural distrust of humans, strong instincts they do not have the freedom to obey, and hypersensitivity to human environmental stimuli. While domesticated animals tend to have longer life expectancies than their wild counterparts, due to their removal from the strains of natural selection (Livingston 1994), captive animals, such as parrots and reptiles, often have much shorter life expectancies than the same species living in their natural habitats (i.e. Mason 2010; Warwick 2014). The quality of life of animals is tightly bound to their state of captivity, as well as the degree to which they are socialised and accustomed to their new environments. Julie Ann Smith (2003, 91) notes that “[d]omestication is not a pure state of which animals are in or out. Rather, animals must manage the disconnection between their natures and their human surroundings.”
Annamaria Passantino (2008), a member of the Federation of European Companion Animal Veterinary Associations, suggests that domestication exists on a continuum. It must balance the natural histories of the animals, the history of involvement they have had with humans and each individual’s history of socialisation. Nor is each animal’s place on this continuum a fixed point. In some cases, a wild animal may be socialised to a degree that gives them entry into domestic life, while some domesticated animals may undergo processes of de-socialisation or be born into situations where they enter a feral way of life. With such a nuanced spectrum of meaning, the fact that the title “domesticated” has been used as an umbrella term over all animals living in human homes is problematic. This type of use alienates those who do not fit into the static mould and perpetuates their marginalisation.
In his detailed history of modern humanity’s relationship with the Syrian Golden Hamster, Michael Murphy (1985), writes that the species was first captured for the purpose of research by scientists at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, in 1930. In 1938 they were exported to the USA for the same purpose, and soon after were introduced to North America as ideal pets. An image of the hamster socialisation process is painted by Murphy: “After only three days of handling, the wild hamsters I captured in Syria were tame and females produced litters” (18). Murphy believed that the laboratory hamster “has changed very little from the wildtype, especially with regards to its behaviour, because the wildtype was originally so well suited to the laboratory” (18). These hamsters were not domesticated. Instead, they naturally fit into an acceptable level of sociability and were easily controlled through the use of small cages – traits that made them easily transferable to the human home.
Like hamsters, most marginalised companion animals have become the target of human domestic interest through their sociable (or tractable) natures and their conveniently-caged and controllable sizes. Animals who live with humans and who are “socialised” (but not “domesticated”) are inevitably kept captive. The very definition of “socialise” is “(t)o make fit for companionship with others” (ITP Nelson 1997, 1297). Unlike domestication, which is understood to be a process of naturalisation that is the consequence of controlled breeding over thousands of years (Williams and DeMello 2007), the idea that an animal must be naturalised to a new situation is not implicit in socialisation. The animals do not have to feel as though they fit in to domestic life; they just have to meet society’s standards of sociability and seem as though they do.
Parrots exemplify this difference. All parrots commonly kept as pets are, in fact, wild animals in captivity. Like many other marginalised companion animals, these birds are also prey animals in their natural habitats, and their behaviours are moulded by a natural vigilance to avoid predation. In the human home, where they are almost always caged, fed inadequate diets, often immobilised by clipped wings, and never have adequate space in which to fly or the natural habitat coverage they need to feel safe from predators (in this case, humans), parrots suffer great amounts of stress (AWC, Born Free USA and ASPCA 2006) (see Figure 2.4). While modern breeding of domestic dogs and cats has had a tremendous impact on the behaviours of these traditional pets (DeMello 2012), selective breeding of parrot species has been almost entirely limited to aesthetic traits that produce visually appealing colour morphs, rather than behavioural traits that make them more suited to human domestic life (AWC, Born Free USA and ASPCA 2006). Unfortunately, one of the results is that most captive parrots have a truncated life expectancy – sometimes only half that of their wild counterparts.
Like the majority of hamsters and parrots, most other marginalised companion animal species are prohibited from freely associating with their human families by the physical boundaries of their enclosures. Some are never afforded the opportunity to leave their confines at all, spending their entire lives in an enclosure that is the tiniest fraction of their natural territorial space. Reptiles are especially prone to live their lives in this kind of profound isolation, usually walled in by glass vivariums and afforded little, if any, time outside of their enclosures. As a result, reptiles display many captivity-stress-related behaviours, including persistent climbing of transparent (glass) walls, hyper- and/or hypo-activity, atypical aggression and consuming non-food materials such as bedding or substrates (Warwick, Frye and Murphy 2004). In fact, the enclosures, diets and other considerations provided for reptiles within the human home are generally so far from meeting their behavioural, biological and psychological needs that 75 percent of all reptiles brought into home settings die within the first year (Toland, Warwick and Arena 2012).
Figure 2.4 Inadequate housing and care can cause parrots to exhibit self-mutilating behaviours
Photograph: Ruthann Arletta Drummond
Fish, although the third most popular household pet, are largely ignored as subjects for welfare concerns. Their caretakers tend to be extraordinarily ignorant of their anatomy and physiology, and are unable or unwilling to provide them with appropriate medical care. Instead, these animals are largely treated as disposable commodities that can be easily replaced at fairly low costs. However, as costs rise (as in ornamental carp or koi), so too does the level of concern and care their caretakers afford them (Iwama 2007). For obvious reasons, fish must remain in complete physical isolation from their caretakers for the entire duration of their lives with humans and can never have increased access to the home, or their health and welfare would be immediately compromised. However, the pet industry has worked to frame extreme isolation as a positive action in the welfare of most non-aquatic species as well – something we will investigate next.
While it is clear that many tensions exist in the lives of marginalised companion animals, and that these tensions pose obstacles for truly companionable relationships with humans, the pet industry works very hard to disappear these difficulties. Ironically, the wide success of the term “companion animal” (rather than “pet”) has been highly dependent not on a disassociation from traditional animal objectification, but on their commodification within the pet industry. Here, animals are being framed as consumers themselves, and for that they require plausible personhoods. With this framing, animals have been branded as “companion animals,” making it conceptually conceivable that these animal-people want and deserve the same things as their caretakers: from the latest toys, to rain boots, to gourmet organic foods, to designer jackets, to spa treatments (Herzog 2010).
While thus believing that companion animals desire objects of enjoyment and leisure comparable to human consumer goods, we simultaneously ignore their biological and psychological needs that stem from their natural histories. We buy multicolour, futuristic spaceship-like cages for our gerbils that still only provide them with minimal space and practically no opportunities to burrow, and we give our cockatiels toy cell phones and bowling pin games to occupy their time, while taking away their ability to fly. Through these actions, we truly believe that we are giving our animals things that they will enjoy, without ever having considered what enjoyment might mean to these species.
The ways marginalised companion animals are labelled in the pet industry also has a profound impact on how they are perceived. Small mammals are often labelled “pocket pets,” a title that can include anything from a dwarf hamster only an inch in size to a 16 kg Flemish Giant rabbit. This term brings to mind a particular object-making image of a toy, as well as certain assumptions: that they are small (and will stay that way), easy to care for, and good pets for children. However, as we have seen, caring for a wild animal (no matter how large or small) is more complicated than this title implies, and thus, many marginalised companion animals purchased under these assumptions experience inadequate care and possibly even neglect.
“Exotic” is also a title often given to these animals and can encompass any animal kept as a pet that is neither a domestic cat nor dog (Ballard and Cheek 2003). This label adds a certain appeal to species who have become fairly common in the pet industry, and brings with it connotations of rarity and excitement – characteristics that can be used to turn these animals into living status symbols. To define something as “exotic” implies that we know little about it – an apt admission of the truth in the case of marginalised companion animals. “Exotic” validates the higher prices paid for marginalised companion animals’ supplies and care, while simultaneously excusing the poor quality and access they have to either. It turns them into objects for display, idolising their rarity and the difficulties inherent in keeping them. To remove these obstacles would be to de-exoticise them – something undesirable in the pet industry. “Exotic pets” is a self-fulfilling prophesy.
Pet stores seem to emphasise the convenience of animals who can be kept in small spaces that do not infringe on our human lives (rather than looking to meet animal needs), allowing us to create modern private menageries in our homes (Drummond 2014). Inadequate equipment and accessories continue to be on the market and, with no education mandatory for private pet ownership, insufficient housing conditions are perpetuated by a widespread lack of knowledge or research, on an international scale (Steiger 2006).
The pet industry has been able to use this to their advantage, and rabbits exemplify this. The idea of the “pet rabbit” has been sculpted into an ideal apartment pet, because their captivity ensures they need minimal space to meet current standards of care (Davis and DeMello 2003). Closely contained in enclosures, they require little supervision and manageable clean up (see Figure 2.5). The caged rabbit has been conceived to fit a busy lifestyle – the perfect pet for the twenty-first century.
What is most interesting is that the standards that have been adopted to suit human desires have also been reframed as stemming from animal needs. Many sources declare that the human home is too dangerous for a rabbit who is not closely supervised, and suggest offering exercise in an enclosed pen that protects the rabbit, rather than modifying the human home to eliminate risks (Drummond 2014). We are taught that the extreme level of control we exercise over the animals is necessary to their wellbeing, thus relieving us of any feelings of guilt we may harbour over keeping them captive. The pet rabbits who endure these “standard” housing conditions, promoted in the industry, must tolerate exceptionally close confinement. When outfitted with the recommended litter box, food bowl, hay rack and toys (e.g. Harkness et al. 2010; Quesenberry and Carpenter 2012), there is little space remaining in the cage for the rabbit to hop, and they are lucky if they are able to stretch out fully.
Photograph: Ruthann Arletta Drummond
Mason and Burn (2011) explain how these kinds of captive conditions prevent animals of all species from performing natural, motivated behaviours (as simple as moving about naturally), leading to behavioural deprivation. Such a state of being leads to frustration, negative emotions and ultimately compromises welfare. Stifled by their hyper-restrictive and regulated environments, these animals are never able to realise their potential as individuals, let alone as companions. As we will see in the next section, this situation has a profound impact on the human experience of living with marginalised companion animals.
While individuals of any companion species can be marginalised and mistreated, marginalised companion animals, as a designation, are not cats or dogs. While this seems blatantly obvious, it is nevertheless a frustrating realisation for those who acquire a different species as a substitute for a more traditional pet. Oftentimes, marginalised companion animals are recommended or marketed to people who, for one reason or another, are unable to keep a dog or cat. For example, the Canadian Veterinary Medical Association (2013) recommends adopting an “exotic pet” (aka marginalised companion animal) when owning a dog or cat is not possible due to allergies, lack of space, landlord rules, long work schedules or the inability to put in the time a dog or cat requires. This type of thinking not only sets up expectations of comparable relationships, it also positions marginalised companion animals as something lesser than dogs or cats – poor substitutes who should only be considered when circumstances preclude the more common animals. These conflicting messages set the caretaker/marginalised companion animal relationship up for failure. When the relationship is not what was hoped for, it is attributed to the animals’ presumed inferiority as a companion, rather than being due to the fact that these species have entirely different needs, both physically and psychologically.
While lamenting the inability to feel the companionship with marginalised companion animals for which they were hoping, caretakers nevertheless continue to perpetuate the strained circumstances which keep them from knowing these animals better. Perhaps the single greatest obstacle to companionable relationships between humans and marginalised companion animals is the standard manner in which they are kept in the human home – enclosed behind bars or panes of glass in cages and vivariums. The impacts of the isolation such a way of living creates are twofold. Firstly, they create a physical and symbolic divide between human and animal, stifling opportunities for spontaneous interaction. Second, they form closely confined, stagnant and unvarying environments (see Figure 2.6) that subdue the animals themselves, causing boredom and atypical behaviours (Mason and Burn 2011).
Photograph: Liam Grin
By nature, guinea pigs are nomadic creatures that live in small herds – spending their entire lives on the move with their family groups, in constantly changing surroundings. As highly vulnerable prey species, they are masters of finding shelter in rock crevices and other nooks to protect themselves from predation (Yamamoto 2015). In many human homes, guinea pigs are kept by themselves in cages no bigger than a few square feet, with little or no shelter to speak of. Devoid of the social interactions and environmental variety that their species are meant to have, guinea pigs kept as pets often become inactive and unengaged. Without adequate shelter from perceived threats, guinea pigs and other animal species can remain nervous and feel constantly stressed (Jones and Boissy 2011).
Like the guinea pigs, other animals kept in small enclosures are not themselves. They are often prone to boredom and inactivity (Mason and Burn 2011), and a great number of them develop health issues such as obesity, digestive issues, heart conditions and arthritis due to the nature of their sedentary lives, inadequate housing environments and poorly balanced diets (Ballard and Cheek 2003). The friendly, engaging and entertaining animals their caretakers were expecting turn into shadows of themselves. Their inactivity and lack of interest in their surroundings renders them boring to watch, which in turn causes caretakers to approach them less often. When the rare approaches do occur, the animals often become nervous or defensive, making interactions a challenge. Any health conditions that result from their restrictive environments become expensive to manage and a hassle to treat. In effect, the animals themselves become burdens on their caretakers, and any perceived value they had as novelties, entertainments, teaching tools or companions is dissolved, leaving many owners to ignore, neglect, abandon or surrender their pets (see Figure 2.7).
Figure 2.7 Smokey was surrendered when his incisors became grossly overgrown due to inadequate care
Photograph: Ruthann Arletta Drummond
Even without behavioural issues or the added obligation of caring for medical concerns, the degree of daily responsibility a marginalised companion animal entails can be an unwelcome shock to caretakers. Due to the clever marketing of the pet store industry that frames these animals as ideal pets for small spaces and busy lifestyles, there is a prevailing myth that they are, in turn, easy to care for. However, this is anything but true. As wild animals, these creatures depend on very specific environmental conditions, particular and varied diets, immense sensitivity to their psychological positions as captive animals, and specialised knowledge of their ethology, physiology and health.
Even when a caretaker dedicates the time needed to research their species of interest, the resources they require for the proper maintenance of their animal can be extremely difficult to access. Appropriate housing, supplies, food and medical care can be problematic or impossible to locate, compromising the welfare of the animal by default. These resources, when found, can also be exceedingly expensive – much more than comparable resources for cats and dogs – because the pet industry is able to exploit the “exotic” label and associated expectations. These difficulties and expenses often come as a surprise to caretakers, since many of the animals themselves are inexpensive and readily available for purchase. Typically speaking, a veterinary exam conducted on a CAD $5 mouse, a $25 budgie or a $40 gecko will cost more than a veterinary exam on a $3000 purebred dog, because of the specialised knowledge and skills involved. However, this incongruity is not usually discovered until the animal is already ensconced in the home.
Erica Fudge (2002) argues that by inviting pets to live with us in our homes we can see them both as animal and human. She believes the special status of pet supersedes animal natures, rendering them a different class of being altogether: “a pet first, an animal second” (32). However, Fudge notes that when pets openly display their animal nature (by peeing on the carpet, scratching the couch, chewing up a favourite shoe etc.), the tranquillity of the relationship is lost and the mirage of an animal/human hybrid being disappears. It is in these moments that we are reminded that we are living with another creature that has needs that are divergent from our own, who has their own sense of agency, and who is not entirely in our control. Looking back to Tuan’s (1984) theory of what makes an ideal pet, these reminders may be unwelcome indeed.
Unfortunately for marginalised companion animals living in the human home, their animal natures are always present and on display. Probably the biggest shock to caretakers is the discovery that their animals are not domesticated, but are actually wild, with wild animal behaviours that like and need to be expressed. Whether loud vocalisations, destruction of human property through chewing, digging, scratching or shredding, messy eating habits, marking territory with urine or faeces, or any number of natural tendencies, the animalness of these creatures cannot be disappeared (see Figure 2.8). These behaviours, which stem from animals’ natural instincts and needs, are not usually considered positive pet qualities and often clash drastically with human desires and ways of life (Tweti 2008).
These same instincts and behaviours can also put up relational barriers. While the perception of pets giving one “unconditional love” is pervasive in Western culture, this is not always the experience of caretakers. Working hard to tame, socialise and acclimatise wild animals to the human domestic sphere does not guarantee they will show love to their caretakers or acceptance of their circumstances. Many animals remain reluctant, stressed and anxious their entire lives, often presenting with physical illness and irregular behaviours that are indicators of their poor overall welfare (Jones and Boissy 2011), despite their caretakers’ best efforts. This can be a difficult reality to accept, and an uncomfortable reminder of the discordant lives these captives lead.
Parrots are extremely intelligent animals, and the cognitive abilities of some species have been compared to those of a young human child (Pepperberg 2009). What does this mean for a parrot living in a cage in the human home? While remaining conscious of the dangers of anthropomorphisations, it may do us well to use our imaginations and try to place ourselves in the bird’s shoes. Highly intelligent and social beings, these birds spend much or all of their life in tiny cages that allow for very limited movements when everything about their bodies is built to fly, often significant distances, each day. If they are let out of their cages, their mobility is often drastically restricted due to clipped wings, leaving them feeling vulnerable to predation from the main predators – the humans – in their environments. Often, their environment varies very little, providing almost no novelty or opportunity to exercise their cognitive abilities, and their highly social, flock-based tendencies are left to wilt in social isolation from others of their species (Tweti 2008). If you were a parrot living in a human home, how would you feel?
Figure 2.8 Parrots kept in human homes often display destructive and property damaging behaviours
Photograph: Ruthann Arletta Drummond
Throughout this chapter, we have spent a lot of time pondering what about marginalised companion animals challenges our expectations of pets, and what these challenges mean in terms of fulfilling their human-intended purposes – most notably, as companions in our leisure pursuits, in the many nebulous manifestations of such relationships. However, rather than using our final thoughts to contemplate how these animals could be better companions to humans, serving our leisure, desires and expectations more effectively, it would perhaps be a more valuable exercise to turn that question on its head and ask how humans can be better companions to these animals and their own leisure needs.
As it stands, the current accepted and promoted practices of marginalised companion animal care employed in human homes – and in particular, caging – limit, stifle and prejudice our relationships with these animals, so that neither animal nor human is given a chance to know the other in a less impoverished way. How can humans be better companions to these animals? That is the question most worth asking.
In writing of one of the more common marginalised companion animals, Margo DeMello (2010) has written that “the human-rabbit relationship [has been] hampered and defined by the lack of sustained, intimate contact between human and rabbit” (238). This must be true of any species where cages and enclosures play a primary role. Before we can hope to meet animals as companions, we must tear down the barriers that block our way. Yi-Fu Tuan (1984) believes that cages signify human failure to make a pet, but the failure actually goes deeper than that. Cages are echoes of exploitive traditions that demonstrate our close-mindedness to possibilities of meaningful relationships with these animals, or the idea that animals have desires of their own that are worth consideration. They are a way of satisfying our own whimsies to own a particular species of fancy while they blatantly ignore the needs, or leisure interests of those they contain. They promote human laziness, ensuring that minimal effort needs to be put into knowing animals through researching, observing and/or interacting with them, and instead their choices and agency are largely denied them as they are treated like animated toys whose main purpose is to provide for human enjoyment. Even fish, who could never safely live outside of an aquarium while in the human home, are given only the most minimal of habitats that cannot come close to meeting their natural needs.
Humans, in our relationships with these animals, are providing them with what is necessary to exist, rather than what is necessary to live an existence that allows for any leisure of their own. With human aesthetics, preferences and convenience in mind, we fail to consider the same for the animals – or even to acknowledge that they may have such desires. Although we cannot escape the reality that the human-marginalized companion animal relationship does contain a relationship of power and a certain degree of human control, considering the interests and desires of the animals in our lives alongside our own can begin to destabilise these dynamics (DeMello 2010). As animals in human homes perforce forfeit certain freedoms and abilities, so too can humans make considerable compromises in their homes and ways of life, in order to provide the animals with as much freedom as possible to be the animals they are meant to be (Smith 2003) (see Figure 2.9).
Figure 2.9 Rabbits enjoying a free-range lifestyle, integrated into a family home
Photograph: Paul C. Wye
One small shift in thinking that could have a large impact on our interactions with marginalised companion animals is a shift to considering them as participants in relationships, rather than subjects to have relationships with. The acknowledgement of participation nods to a desire to work together in the navigation of this nebulous territory of human-marginalized companion animal relations. Erica Fudge (2002) eloquently wrote:
The choice, as I see it, is a simple one: we acknowledge the limitations of our own perspective, but simultaneously accept that what we can achieve within those limitations is important and worthwhile, even if it is only the best we can do (159).
We have a lot to offer animals before we can claim that what we are doing is our best effort, but we can make a start by truly considering them for who they are and what they may desire, and not only what they can be within our own leisure experience.
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