I was pretty sure I could find someone somewhere to certify
my duck as a “service animal.” In fact, after a little research, I found I can
even do it online.
I’ll just tell them I feel anxiety without my duck; I need
to take my duck to comfort me and assuage my fears wherever I go. My duck will
be an “emotional support animal.” That’s
actually an official government designation: an ESA.
Then I could get an official “service animal” vest for my
duck. Maybe a little leash, too. I could take my duck anywhere – on planes,
trains, out shopping, to restaurants, wherever.
It can’t be all that tough. I see people all the time in
airports or out shopping with ancient bug-eyed little rat dogs in service
animal wraps. If it’s not chihuahuas, or teeny-tiny Dobermans, it’s miniature
poodles or cockapoos with that red-brown gunk under their eyes.
And they are all tagged as service animals. In what
capacity?
I understand real service animals, like guide dogs for the
visually impaired.
I don’t understand that designation for yappy little pets
people get certified just so they don’t have to leave Muffy or Sparky at home
when they travel or go out shopping.
I suspect these are the same folks who continue to use
handicap hang tags for better parking spots years after they once had some ingrown
toenail surgery. Or the ones in handicap spots with twin bike racks on their
cars. It kind of makes you wonder what’s
going on.
I feel the same about so many animals tagged with the
service animal designation for no apparent reason. I’ve yet to see a teacup cockapoo,
poodle, chihuahua, or other miniature animal with a harness on to guide their
owner. So they must be “comfort animals”: that strange, relatively new category
seemingly created to indulge the whims of self-absorbed owners.
It’s actually pretty easy to do this. In fact, here’s a link to get started:
They also sell the cute little vests, and will provide a doctor’s
note for travel. Now, there are real rules for service animals to qualify under
the Americans with Disabilities Act – those animals actually have to be trained
to perform some specific function. But the standard is much, much lower for an
emotional support animal.
Go ahead. Go up to that site. You’ll see that an ESA can be a cat, a dog, a
pig, a ferret, a miniature horse, or something else, which, I suspect, would
also cover a duck.
I am not making this up.
At a time when some colleges are providing puppy encounters
and kitten cuddling for students distressed by the possibility of hurtful
speech, or even by exams, the idea of ESAs for everyone only seems
logical. Why can’t the parents of these
emotionally fragile students have access to the same therapeutic benefits of an
ESA? Aren’t they just as special? And needy?
It took these latest generations to teach us how special
everyone can be, and the benefits of being special. And a lot of people have now taken that
lesson to heart, in everything.
Since there are now so many special people in this country,
with so many special needs, particularly emotional needs, I’m feeling somewhat
left out. That’s why I think a comfort
duck might be a way to join their ranks.
Of course, I’d go through all the proper paperwork to get my
duck certified as a service animal under the “emotional support” category. I
might even buy the doctor’s note so my duck could travel on planes with me. (It
would be faster than trying to fly wherever I’m going on his own.)
Who is to say my duck doesn’t reduce my anxiety? That’s the
beauty of it: I’ll claim I need my comfort duck to keep me calm. Try to
disprove that.
There are so many other benefits to having a comfort
duck. People don’t instinctively hate
ducks; most people think ducks are pretty neat.
Everybody loves the Aflac duck, don’t they? Then there’s Donald Duck,
Daffy Duck, and the Peabody Ducks.
I think the biggest problem will be people who want to pet
my duck. At which point I’ll have to tell them please don’t because my duck is
actually working.
I just imagine how many people would look at my duck and
think of me: “why, he must be some kind of special to have that comfort duck.”
Some might be brave enough to ask me if my duck knows any tricks. “He eats,
poops and quacks,” I’ll respond, “that’s pretty much his day.”
My comfort duck may look like any other duck but he’ll make
me special.
And in this day and age, doesn’t everybody have
a right to be special?
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