Cultivated Pissing

Sometimes I think all of history is a pissing match, but one cannot say that in polite society. No time and no space, just a pissing match. The kind that we can recognize from having observed a pack of stray dogs. Or, simply, dogs: city animals that are allowed to wee on that one (and only) street light at the crossroads.

Dogs can do wonders together - say, hunt an animal many times bigger than any of them individually. Then they go their separate ways and start leaving their mark on history, pissing on that street light. Right after the once fresh paint has settled, first one dog, perhaps alpha. Each walk - what’s a dog to do? - he or she might wee to let everyone know, to introduce oneself. Then the next dog might do the same, maybe a little more coyly. Any dog that wants to wee on the street light will do it. Alpha might chase a dog or two, just to enforce that it’s “his” or “her” street light. The other dogs know that, really, it should be everybody’s, right?