It began when I took my dog to the veterinary clinic where my wife works. At the time she was still in vet school and I was a first-time pet owner who’d chosen to spend most of my adult life responsible solely for my own fun and convenience. Archie, my dog, represented my first, hesitant step toward maturity. “He has a tick and I don’t know how to remove it,” I said to my future wife. Thankfully she pitied me, removed the tick, and thought I was cute enough to date. Three years later we got married with our dogs among the witnesses.

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Rereading Scott O'Dell's "The Island of the Blue Dolphins" (every bit as great as you remember it being) for a book group, I'd loved the main character's dog, Rontu. Rontu, in turn, reminded me of several other notable literary canines, particularly the intrepid fox terrier, Montmorency, from Jerome K. Jerome's comic classic, "Three Men in a Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog)." Why, I wondered, are dogs more endearing and amusing in novels while cats claim precedence in Web videos, captioned photos and GIFs?

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One quiet Sunday morning, I stroll down the driveway of my home in Stone Mountain, Georgia, to pick up the newspaper. As I arrive at the bottom—we live on a hill—a Cadillac drives up the street and stops right before me. A big man in a suit steps out, sticking out his hand. A firm handshake follows, during which I hear him proclaim in a booming, almost happy voice, “I’m looking for lost souls!” Apart from perhaps being overly trusting, I am rather slow and had no idea what he was talking about. I turned around to look behind me, thinking that perhaps he had lost his dog, then corrected myself and mumbled something like, “I’m not very religious.”

This was of course a lie, because I am not religious at all. The man, a pastor, was taken aback, probably more by my accent than by my answer. He must have realized that converting a European to his brand of religion was going to be a challenge, so he walked back to his car, but not without handing me a business card in case I’d change my mind. A day that had begun so promisingly now left me feeling like I might go straight to hell.

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But as Monte Reel persuasively argues in his equally ripping (and far more intellectually satisfying) "Between Man and Beast: An Unlikely Explorer, the Evolution Debates, and the African Adventure That Took the Victorian World by Storm," another likely model for Challenger is Paul Du Chaillu, the first modern naturalist to observe gorillas in their native habitat. This elusive, gallant and endearing man was born on a date and in a place unknown, to a mother who has never been identified. His story, as told by Reel, is both a tale of plucky self-invention and an ironic reflection on the sometimes ugly inner workings of the scientific world.

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The problem was that cats are not especially trainable — they don’t have the same deep-seated desire to please a human master that dogs do — and the agency’s robo-cat didn’t seem terribly interested in national security. For its first official test, CIA staffers drove Acoustic Kitty to the park and tasked it with capturing the conversation of two men sitting on a bench. Instead, the cat wandered into the street, where it was promptly squashed by a taxi. The program was abandoned; as a heavily redacted CIA memo from the time delicately phrased it, “Our final examination of trained cats ... convinced us that the program would not lend itself in a practical sense to our highly specialized needs.” (Those specialized needs, one assumes, include a decidedly unflattened feline.)

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We are here because Tova began pacing my apartment, her tongue shooting out of her snout; she worked her jaws and licked the air. The vet tech who answered the phone, the same one who hands Poochie’s owner a leash and collar with a heart-shaped tag, told me to bring her in right away: “It could be gastric torsion.” Gastric torsion: The belly, swollen with gas, crushes the diaphragm, pinches blood from the heart. It could kill my sweet girl—the one who finally wakes me with head-butts and nuzzling after the alarm has gone off; the one who dances when my key turns in the door—within an hour.

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Dog vocalizations may not sound very sophisticated. Raymond Coppinger pointed out that most dog vocalizations consist of barking, and that barking seems to occur indiscriminately. Coppinger reported on a dog whose duty was to guard free-ranging livestock. The dog barked continuously for seven hours, even though no other dogs were within miles. If barking is communicative, dogs would not bark when no one could hear them. It seemed to Coppinger that the dog was simply relieving some inner state of arousal. The arousal model is that dogs do not have much control over their barking. They are not taking into account their audience, and their barks carry little information other than their emotional state.

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That's how much the National Retail Federation estimates we will shell out this year for our dogs, cats, "fish, horses and small animals." I'd say that it's all well and good, but don't expect them to reciprocate with so much as a card -- except that over the past few years, I've noticed a creeping new segment of the card shop rack devoted to none other than "From Cat" greetings.

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The protesters said the dogs are innocent, and many claimed the victims were probably killed by humans. They acknowledged the famished dogs that live in a hilltop park in an east-side slum where the bodies were found may have bitten the corpses after they were already dead.

"Dog friends, the people are with you!" the protesters chanted, as well as, "The dogs aren't criminals, the police are inept!"

"We are completely certain ... the dogs are innocent," said Nominis de Esparza, an animal activist who has adopted 30 cats.

Autopsies determined that the three women, a teenage boy and a baby found in the park since mid-December died of loss of blood due to bites from multiple dogs.

But those findings have been met with widespread skepticism in a country where drug gangs frequently dump bodies of their victims in public spaces, and prosecutors seldom thoroughly investigate such crimes. The idea has taken hold among many that killers dumped the bodies in the park, hoping that packs of stray dogs would destroy the evidence.

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Over the weekend, a group of golden retrievers arrived in Newtown, Conn., to do exactly what they do best – to offer a little warmth and sweetness to a town shaken to its core with sorrow. The team of specially trained comfort dogs from Lutheran Church Charities traveled 800 miles to arrive at Christ the King Lutheran Church, where the funerals of two of the children killed in the massacre are being held. As Tim Hetzner, head of the organization, explained to the Chicago Tribune, "Dogs are non-judgmental. They are loving. They are accepting of anyone. It creates the atmosphere for people to share." In just a short time, the animals have already put in their share of work. Hetzner told the Tribune, "You could tell which [townspeople] … were really struggling with their grief because they were quiet. They would pet the dog, and they would just be quiet … I asked [one man] how he is doing. He just kind of teared up and said: 'This year, I've lost five loved ones and now this happened.' The whole town is suffering."

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On Tuesday, Apple, a woman never at a loss for words, posted a copy of a four-page, handwritten letter on her Facebook page. In it, she explained her decision to postpone the South American dates of her current tour to be with her dog as she nears the end of her life.

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What I wanted my whole life was relief—from pressure, isolation, people’s suffering (including my own, which was mainly mental), and entire political administrations. That is really all I want now. Besides dealing with standard-issue family crisis, heartbreak, and mishegas, I feel that I can’t stand one single more death in my life. That’s too bad, because as we speak, I have a cherished thirteen-year-old cat who is near death from lymphoma. I know I won’t be able to live without her.

This must sound relatively petty to those of you facing the impending loss of people, careers, or retirement savings. But if you are madly in love with your pets, as any rational person is, you know what a loss it will be for both me and my three-year-old grandson, Jax. My cat Jeanie has helped raise him, and it will be his first death. I told him that she was sick, and that the angels were going to take her from us. I tried to make it sound like rather happy news—after all, vultures aren’t coming for her, or snakes—but he wasn’t having any of it.

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The Romney family Irish Setter entered political lore in 2007, when the Boston Globe coolly recounted his ordeal to highlight Mitt Romney’s response (pulling over at a gas station and hosing down car and dog), illustrating the candidate’s unemotional, logical problem-solving. And it was irresistible man-bites-dog stuff. Gail Collins’ legendary references to the incident totaled more than 75 as of Saturday. David Letterman had a field day. The Animal Legal Defense Fund created an infographic that documents all the animal welfare laws Romney appeared to break during the road trip. A major polling firm studied the public reaction to Romney over the incident (not good). Devo recorded a song.

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Meanwhile, I have another dog enduring the indignities of what his veterinarian calls “the slow fade.” Both suffer grand mal seizures. Both have fragile stomachs that cause indoor accidents and sleepless nights. And both teeter on the edge of death one moment only to act like spry pups the next.

For more than half of my adult life, I have scheduled my world around my pets. But I don’t know how much longer this can go on. As much as it pains me to admit it, part of me is anxious for their anguish — and mine — to end. I can’t wait for them to die.

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It wasn’t always this way. The earliest single-celled organisms on Earth simply cloned themselves. Some of their descendants still do. But as complex multicelled organisms evolved and eventually “discovered” the ability to mix their gametes, they gained a giant genetic advantage. Since these ancient creatures lived in the sea, the earliest sex was a straightforward process of spraying sperm and eggs into the water. The lucky few connected.

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The concept that humanity has a violent and evil core is widespread; it is one of the oldest and most resilient myths about human nature. From historical and philosophical beliefs to current popular and scientific beliefs, the view that a savage and aggressive beast is a central part of our nature permeates public and academic perceptions. Given this view, it is a common assumption that if you strip away the veneer of civilization, the restraints of society and culture, you reveal the primeval state of humanity characterized by aggression and violence.

While there are many reasons for the resilience of this myth, the most powerful one is the simple fact that humans today can and do engage in extreme levels of violence and aggression. If you read the newspaper, visit online news sites or turn on the television, you are guaranteed to come across some evidence of humans behaving violently toward other humans. While many animals aggressively hunt, capture, and eat prey, it is relatively rare for most animals to engage in intense, lethal aggression with members of their own species.

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The truth was nothing was that simple or savage. Apparently the horses were being treated well, with greater care than actual working racehorses. The third horse was reportedly in good health and high spirits the day it died. It was in such spirits that it reared up as horses sometimes do. This time it fell over backward, and landed on its head. Just an accident. All you can blame is the fragile frame of the thoroughbred horse, which was created for racing.

But that didn't keep the show from being canceled – or critics from speaking out. Even before the third horse death, PETA charged that “two dead horses in a handful of episodes exemplify the dark side of using animals in television, movies, and ads.” Like all filming in the U.S., "Luck" was shot under supervision of the American Humane Association's Film & TV Unit, the people who certify that “No animal was harmed in the making” of a film or TV show. (That's a statement about animal welfare, not animal rights. If you don't think animals should be filmed for entertainment at all, you're not going to like AHA. Founded in 1877, it also promotes the welfare of children.)

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It seems Donald Jr. and his brother Eric went to Africa on a hunting trip last year, and their tour company, Hunting Legends, decided recently to brag of the men's prowess on their Web site, complete with graphic photos of the brothers and their kills. And here's a shocker – there's something about rich white men smiling with the carcasses of the African animals they've killed that a lot of people just don't like.

The photographs are intense – images of the men proudly hoisting a dead leopard, smiling and holding a sawed off elephant's tail next to the animal's body, posing with a dead bull and waterbuck and an enormous, strung-up crocodile.

PeTA unsurprisingly jumped at the opportunity to get a little free press from the episode, sending out a statement that "Like all animals, elephants, buffalo and crocodiles deserve better than to be killed and hacked apart for two young millionaires’ grisly photo opportunity." And even Donald Sr. told "Access Hollywood," "I've never liked it (hunting). I've never liked that they like it... I'm going to talk to them about it. I'm not a fan of the whole situation."

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