Gary. Not a name you associate with heroes, but there is one Gary in particular who deserves that moniker. He is a hero amongst heroes. He was Carrie Fisher’s (Princess Leia in Star Wars, for those who go outside) emotional support dog.
That’s right, the princess’ puppy in waiting. Gary went everywhere with Carrie, as she fended off Star Wars cosplayers all over the world. He supported Carrie through her experiences with bipolar disorder. I personally don’t know a lot about bipolar disorder, but if you have read The Princess Diaries (and you should have), you’ll know that Harrison Ford certainly didn’t make life easy for The People’s Princess. If only she had an emotional support animal to help her.
Gary helped bring emotional support animals into the spotlight. Arguably, before Gary you would hear people marvel at how stupid it was that people could bring animals on planes simply because they get anxious. Then it got into extreme cases of an emotional support goose or turkey and people cried the old chestnut of “PC gone mad!” But if the Frenchie Gary could go on a plane, so could my LGBTQ emotional support turkey Harold. Animals are a very calming influence (when they’re not clawing my toy Mario or spraying piss on my Gamecube games). Something about just watching them stretch out in the sun, playing with a leaf, or fetching a stick is grounding when you’re anxious. Watching an 8kg cat try and fit into a shoe box helps me to forget about the next assignment due, cos his struggle is much more real than mine.
When the black dog won’t let you get out of bed (such an unfair generalisation of canines), animals give you a reason to get out of bed too. One of our cats likes to punch me in the eye every morning to get her daily hit of Iams. The routine that animals force you into helps keep you moving. They need food at the same time each day. They need walking at the same time each day. The phrase “Creature of Habit” had to come from somewhere. I used to have a guinea pig who would yawn every night at 9pm. A Clockwork Guinea Pig called Goldberg (see previous column for my obsession with wrestling). With the recent national crisis with cat food supply, each week becomes a scavenger hunt as you go from store to store hoping that they have some spare bags “out back.” It can’t just be any old brand either. Cries by dog lovers of “the cat will eat it if it’s hungry enough” just isn’t true.
They don’t understand. Cats know our dirty little secret. We need them more than they need us.
Those Magnificent Bastards.
Dedicated to Gary Fisher and his Mum, Carrie.
