Fragility and Arrogance

It is freezing today. My youngest brother called me this morning to ask me advice about a dog he is watching. He was worried that the dog's paws were getting frostbitten because he would start licking at his paws after only a few minutes out on their morning walks. I told him the pup's paws were getting too cold and to put socks on his feet when he took him out. Animals, us included, are not really meant for weather this cold.

It's probably about 12 degrees with wind chills below 0. In Chicago there is always wind. I just want to curl up someplace warm and stay there, venturing out only when necessary. I wish we could follow our instincts more.

We ignore weather as we ignore most aspects of nature. As if natural law does not apply to us humans. So we jog when it's 105 outside, wander around outdoors when the wind shrieks through us at 15 below. We leap off of cliffs, hand feed sharks, sail in choppy waters and chase tornadoes for a visceral thrill.

We're a pretty damn dumb species if you think about it.

We build our homes where hurricanes are sure to sweep through and then we rebuild them. I'm not talking about the poor Katrina victims, the mistake was made generations ago of building a city on land so vulnerable. We scoff at global warming until footage of glaciers falling apart force us to suddenly realize that we don't control the world.

Sometimes the elements beat us in spite of our best efforts. I shivered violently as I walked a block to buy milk and then thought about the homeless who have no choice but to sleep on grates or huddle under piles of blankets in a corner. There are homeless shelters, but they are none in my neighborhood and how do you get to them if you have no money? Plus many of them are more dangerous than the elements they are meant to protect people from.

We intrude, destroy and ignore nature and then are shocked when we suffer for it. We try to bend the laws of nature to suit our whims and are outraged if we get hurt. There are three ducks and four chickens in a pen in my backyard. They venture out for a bit of sun and to get a drink and then scuttle back to huddle in their nest boxes under the heat lamps, clucking softly and broodily about how damn bad it is outside. If a hen can figure it out, why can't we?