Some media hacks pretended to be surprised when Leona Helmsley left her multi-billion-dollar fortune to dogs. Others were not so surprised.

Part of the surprise factor involved Helmsley's rep as the Queen of Mean: she was a powerful woman, which always freaks people out. The media was pandering to people's expectation of "surprise" further bad behavior. Part of the surprise was a woman's ability to do what she wants with her money, however many zeroes are attached to it. Because as for preferring dogs to people, Leona was well within the norm.


Her personal dog, Trouble, got $2 million, after a humano-centric judge knocked down its bequest from $12 million so Leona's two grandkids could split $6 million between them. Helmsley, who died in August 2007, left the lion's share of her estate, valued at between $5 and $8 billion, to an unspecified dog charity.

Actually, as recently as a year ago, this story would've surprised me. But since then, I've been the "sometime girlfriend" of an owner of two small dogs. That's her term for me. My term for her is girl-fiend. She's the kind of owner who bridles (enslaved animal imagery intended) at the term owner.

Girl-fiend likes to think of her dogs as... well, certainly not as her property. She often doesn't even seem to regard them as her responsibility. Fellow conspirators, maybe, against the constraints of civilization in general and daily routine in particular. She looooves her little doggies more than any human she's ever known. And in ways subtle and not-so-subtle, she lets humans she knows know it.


This is not an uncommon sentiment. Somewhere online I ran across the following quote, which sums it up nicely: "My dog is the only living thing that wants me around 24/7. And you know what? The feeling is mutual." Now, barring the impossibility of ever actually knowing what the heck a dog's thinking or feeling, what does it say about our mental health when we prefer a dependent pet to independent members of our own species?


I guess I ought to be able to sympathize — it's how I felt about my beloved cat until the day she shuffled off that mortal coil. Except, Lilith didn't always want me around. She made it clear she had animal time I could have no part in. She didn't want me intruding, say, when she was hunting a bird. She humored me; she was very kind; but she never let me forget I was merely human.

For my part — as much as I loved Lilith, and I did love her fiercely, and she became dearer to me as the years rolled by and she became as nearly perfect as a sentient being can become — I have to say, humans could do things she couldn't. Not all humans, but some. Particularly love objects.

They could talk, which I enjoyed. They could argue and point out my shortcomings, always a plus. They could bake and go out to the theater and they liked to eat similar things. They could also use a knife and fork, but I'm losing myself in the details. Oh yeah, they were sexy in ways I didn't want my pet to be sexy.


The sad thing about Leona's will is not that she left her money to dogs. Properly spent, that money could do a lot of good. I just wonder what kind of life Trouble's going to enjoy, bereft of her mistress on this earthly plane and saddled with $2 million. Who's going to love that dog for itself? Maybe unwittingly, Leona was painting her own despairing self-portrait with that bequest. Poor little rich bitch.