Would You Clone Your Dog?

this neighbor did

Four white huskies charged at me. They were barking, growling and drooling. The only thing between me and them was the driveway gate and a property fence.

I was walking Freddie, my sister’s English Cream (a Golden Retriever but with blonde fur—think Robert Redford’s hair circa 1974).

Redford in “Three Days of the Condor;” photo by Fine Art Storehouse. For you Gen Zers, Owen Wilson is a good match too.

Freddie was barking loud and proud, ready to protect me, all 90 pounds of him yanking me towards the gate.

“No, Freddie. Leave it,” I said.

I yanked him back and moved quickly away from the house.

I was helping to care for my sister and by association, her dog. Vicki had surgery; two rods and nine screws to stabilize her spine that was invaded by metastatic breast cancer. (See last week’s essay.) Barring the four viscous dogs, Vicki lives in a lovely, gated community. Every other house has a patch of fake grass and an EV; an environmentalist’s dream neighborhood.

Freddie and I returned home. He rushed down the hallway, scooping up a squeaky bear toy, bringing it to his human mama who was resting in the rented hospital bed in the family room.

Freddie— later napping.

After the twentieth time in the day of asking Vicki, “How are you feeling?” I launched into, “What’s the deal with those four white Huskies?”

“Oh, they’re clones,” she said.

Huh?

I knew it wasn’t the opioids and muscle relaxer talking since Vicki had been having clear conversations. Although she claimed to be “foggy” I decided one man’s “foggy” is another man’s “eidetic memory.”

She remembered appointments I had forgotten to write down. “The OT is at nine ay-em and the zoom call with the radiation oncologist is at 2:30.”

Or when we wanted to watch a Seinfeld episode one night she suggested at least ten story lines from her favorites.

“Remember the one when Kramer found the Merv Griffin set in the garbage and he recreated it in his apartment?”

It wasn’t the opiates talking.

“Cloned dogs?” I said. “How—? What—? Do you know the family?”

“My friend, Karen, who lives around the corner is like Gladys Kravitz. She has the intel on all the neighbors.”

“A real Karen.”

Vicki went on, “Apparently, the family dog was dying and the couple decided to clone him. Four times. At 30k a pop.”

“Wait. I’m still absorbing the clone part.”

“And they don’t have the personality of their original pet.”

I wanted to borrow Vicki’s vomit bag from the hospital that looked like a vacuum insert.

“Who would clone their pet?” I said. “The only thing I’ve ever wanted to clone was the Lancome lipstick color the company retired. I loved moulon rouge.”

I had to Google this travesty

ViaGen Pets in Texas will clone your pet. They charge around 50k. It sounds like they either increased their prices or were having a sale when Vicki’s neighbors cloned their Husky. I imagined a Black Friday sale. ViaGen’s website crashing from all the hysterical pet owners. Clone once, 39k. Clone four, 30k each. Or, buy one for 120k and get three free.

Here’s an article featuring a few people who have cloned their pets. It seems environment plays a role in your dog’s or cat’s “new” personality. Gee, kinda like humans.

Meanwhile, dogs have pack mentalities. If the human isn’t the alpha or the dogs are untrained, four together can be a threat, cloned or not cloned, which is what I experienced walking Freddie.

My response

There are hundreds of dogs and cats in shelters EVERYWHERE. These animals need loving homes. Instead of paying 50k to clone your dog, how about donating 50k to your local animal shelter and adopting? Just sayin’.

Avoiding Grief?

It’s hard to let go when your dog dies. I get it. We’ve had 3 beloved Springer Spaniels over the years. The first one had “Springer rage” and we had to put him down. Even though he bit Jeffrey’s hand and sent him to the ER, we were sobbing when the vet gave Arthur the deadly injection. We later adopted Barney who lived for 17 years. Simon was 11. We were hot messes when they passed. Now that we are empty nesters Apollo is our baby. He’s eight and has epilepsy. One day he will leave us and I know we will be blubbering for months.

Apollo pretending he’s a Customer Service Representative.

Apollo mimicking me.

Your pet becomes your family member. I wonder if the cloning avoids the grief for those who partake in the process. To me, it feels unnatural. The grieving honors the pet, the life you had with him. Dogs represent that chapter in your life. My kids’ first experience of death was with Barney. (They were too young to understand when their grandpa died.) Our family buried Barney in a pet cemetery. We taught our kids about life’s natural cycle and ritual. Our daughter wrote a poem, and our son drew a stick figure dog that went in the ground with Barney. I’m not a fan of the word, “closure,” but I do believe some sort of ritual, tradition or life lesson is invaluable.

Other questions

Do the clone owners delete the old photos?

“I need space on my phone. Now we have Fido 2, 3 and 4 I don’t need these pictures of Fido 1.”

And what about their soul? Many religions believe animals have a consciousness. Souls cannot be cloned.

And what happens when your cloned pet dies? Will the family clone the clone? What does a clone of a clone look like? Have you seen the movie, Multiplicity?

If you’ve never seen this movie watch it now.

Therapy

Hubby-Jeffrey volunteers with the American Red Cross. Most of his calls are due to fires. The RC recently implemented a psych service to help those grieving a lost pet. Lovely, right? Jeffrey once filled out the paperwork for a fire survivor who was grieving the loss of his pet Tarantula. How does that session go?

“Quentin Tarantulino was the best arachnid ever. Baaaa.”

I’m glad the airlines finally drew the line on what constitutes a “therapy pet” but now I wonder if a gazillionaire might clone his beloved praying mantis.

Back to Freddie

When I next walked Freddie, I took a different route. The last leaves had fallen mucking up the Teslas parked on the street. Freddie stopped in his tracks. He stared intently at a cluster of southern sugar maple detritus making their way toward the drain.

“What is it?”

I didn’t see the lizard until Freddie leapt in its direction, chasing the reptile into the bushes, my arm stretched like Elastagirl.

I would luuuuvvvv to know your thoughts on this topic.

1. If you had the funds, would you clone your pet? If so, why?

2. Tell me your three favorite things about your fur baby. If you don’t have one, a human will do.