Indoor Animals

Abstract

Indoor Animals Noah Bogdonoff (bio) Science Fiction A deer arrives for you in a yellow PT Cruiser. A woman slides out of the atrocious car, her face sun-freckled, her hair sun-bleached. She is no-nonsense about this deer. She says that she found him next to his mother, who was dead by the side of the road, and that the wildlife rescue centers would not take in a baby deer because deer are too common to protect. She says that she has already named the deer; his name is Star Wars. He is no more than five days old. Will you take him, she asks. You consider that your dog is named Han Solo and your car is called the Millennium Falcon. It feels momentarily like a collapse of reality: the molecule is smaller and more fragile than the atom. And then Star Wars mews from the blazing-hot cruiser. Eeeeee, he says. Eeee. He is hungry and very cute. Of course, you tell the woman. Of course we will take the deer. Thank god, she says, as you approach the PT Cruiser and lift the leggy, terrified creature from the car. Thank god, says the lady again. You are a saint. And then she drives off, and you realize as she peels away that you forgot to ask her who she was and how she knew that you would be the kind of loony to accept an orphaned deer. Eee, says Star Wars. You do not know how to raise a baby deer. You know nothing about baby deer. For starters, you do not know how to keep the dog from eating him. You also do not know what baby deer eat, or how often. The Internet in your house is spotty; today it refuses to tell you anything. You have a friend who is a bovine nutritionist, however, so you call him on the telephone and he gives you instructions, as well as a warning: do not name this baby deer, because he is going to die of hunting as soon as he has antlers. His name is Star Wars, you tell the bovine nutritionist. Now that's some fucked up shit, he says. Superstition: Pigeons The psychologist B. F. Skinner conducted an experiment which involved starving caged pigeons. The hungry pigeons were taught to operate a one-button machine: press the button and a door opens to reveal food. The pigeons learned [End Page 42] the machine easily; they used it often and became less hungry. Skinner starved his pigeons again. This time, he did not give them a button to press. Instead, he opened the door at random. He wanted to see what the pigeons would do when they were not in control. The pigeons did not understand. They were caged; they knew only rules, causality. They still believed, in the way that pigeons believe, that they were responsible for causing the door to open. One by one, each pigeon began to fixate on whatever motion it happened to be making when Skinner opened the door. One pigeon squatted up and down endlessly. Another flapped its wings in a specific pattern. Another simply blinked at the door faithfully. This time, they believed, this squat, this flap, this blink, this time the door will open. Skinner never let his pigeons die of starvation, but he also never let them in on the secret. Cohabitation It goes like this: you lie down, and then the fawn lies down. You roll over—slowly—and turn the lights off. You close your eyes and wait. The fawn gets up. His baby hooves clip-clop against the floorboards. He nestles his face into your face. He sucks on your ear for a moment, expecting milk. He trots to the far side of the room. As you drift off to sleep, you hear the hiss of a distant tributary, the trickle of a nearby stream. You are not asleep; there is no stream. The fawn is peeing, steadily and unabashedly, all over the floor. It happens like this every night. Strangers You take a walk through the hunting grounds. There are no hunters...