My sister got another dog. That makes four.

Believe me, we’re all concerned.  But the good news is that this dog is considerably smaller than the others.   It weighs two.

Two isn’t enough, I know.  All animals have a right to weigh a bit more than two.   But- to make the tiny dog feel better about his weight, my sister named him Harry, and it worked.  He feels great about himself.

I can’t stop thinking about Harry. For instance, today my niece called me to say that Harry is so small he spent the day playing with a cotton ball. Imagine being so small that a cotton ball is enough of a toy? Isn’t that so like Harry?  I just love him- in spite of his weight problem.

And that’s what got me thinking.

A small animal is a cute, helpless, cuddly thing that we can’t help but want to kiss and take care of.  Unless it’s wearing a dress. . .and a tiara.

But when it comes to small, helpless people –that’s a whole other story. As humans, we don’t care for our small.  We care for our children, of course, but I’m referring to our fully grown small.

Ever since I fell in love with Harry’s picture, I keep imagining a grown kid of say seventeen or eighteen, walking around high school, who only weighs like 67 pounds.  I say 67  because it feels like the human equivalent of a dog two.  And I’m not talking about an anorexic 67 – I just mean like an incredibly small, fully grown kid.  At first, from far away -someone might mistake him for a middle-schooler, and they might even think he’s cute, really cute in fact. Cute enough to talk to. But then, when they get up close, they see that the kid is much too old to be so small and they instantly assume there’s something wrong with him. And then they no longer like him. At all.  He’s not boyishly cute in the long hair, sideways baseball cap, long shorts and huge wad of gum way.  He’s just sort of featureless and oddly effeminate and yet somehow manly – almost asexual and therefore not dressable.  Now imagine, if you will, that this kid is actually quite intelligent and sexually mature.  This is the worst possible scenario, I agree, but bear with me.  He’s walking around the halls thinking the same thoughts all the other kids are thinking and yet no one will look at him because he’s just too small.  He will never, ever, ever have a girlfriend.  He’s unlovable because he is isn’t big enough to be loved.  And yet, if he’d been just eighty pounds heavier, or a dog, he could have been considered worthy of love. I mean here’s Harry, two pound Harry, getting all the attention, and that kid, that poor kid, who, granted, I made up, but who did absolutely nothing wrong, has to go around feeling like an unlovable failure.

Can someone please explain to me why we like our small dogs better than our small people? It’s wrong on so many levels, particularly the completely inhumane one. I’m not saying I wouldn’t trade little Harry for that odd kid any day of the week; I would God damn it. I’m just asking you to explain it.

But first take a moment to look at little Harry.  I’ll be posting his picture as soon as Jesse comes home so check back later. He’s so cute, you won’t be able to take it.