What makes Henry so funny?
No creature makes me laugh so, laugh out loud, belly-laughing, gasping with surprise. I’ve browsed theses meant to explain this oh-so-human phenomenon – superiority, incongruity, relief – Aristotle, Plato, Kant, Dryden, Freud, Hobbes, Schopenhauer, Bergson, Hegel, and countless lesser luminaries have weighed in on the mystery – but none, best I comprehend their convolutions, quite fits my experience. I’m all for thinking things through on one’s own. It’s a better workout for the brain and you learn more. Your hunches may not withstand scrutiny but so? The right answer is right for you, no answer for all.
Laughter, if real, takes us by surprise, like vomit or a belch. Its impetuosity makes it hard to suppress. It bypasses Reason and Decorum, its demure chaperones. We laugh before we know it. We may blush, though it feels grand. Guides to Good Manners have discouraged such eruptions since the invention of Etiquette.
Henry is often funny but his funniest, for me, is at the start of our daily walk. Henry has been waiting – mostly patiently – for this favorite moment. He has dozed or pretended to for hours while my fingers flicked over that glowing gray box. Henry does not know what my laptop does but he’s sure it’s unwelcome. How could finger-flicking be more fun than stick-fetching in the great outdoors? Yet Henry takes the world as he finds it. Humans feed, fondle and defend him; they’re the boss. If the big guy chooses to fritter precious hours finger-flicking, big deal. But now it’s time to frolic!
Henry’s exuberant anticipation first widens my grin. He is beside himself, hopping, twirling, nibbling ankles and slippers – has any creature ever been more eager? – not even Romeo before his wedding night! Henry seems not to remember he was this happy yesterday at this instant – or the day before. Memories of past delight do not dilute present pleasure, as happens with humans. Humans compare – when were you most glad? That is never a question for Henry – he is gladdest now.
Henry’s favorite game is fetch. I keep a stack of sticks on a stone wall out of his reach, which Henry rushes to, bouncing, yipping, eager beyond eager to pursue one as soon as I let fly. His bright eyes eye the stick in my fist. Will I ever hurl it! I do and off he rushes, whoosh, pouncing on it, proud and self-pleased. Isn’t he something! Now he prances almost daintily beyond my reach to parade his prowess – catch me if you can! His imitation of human vanity cracks me up, it is so dead-on.
And so it goes. I laugh. Spontaneously. Unexpectedly. Why?
The shock of colliding with eternity – that’s my thesis. Henry lives thrillingly in the present. He does not compare. Or regret. He’s having fun without wondering if this is more fun or less or when will it end? He is not dogged – odd verb here – by death. Time has never occurred to him. Success and failure don’t trouble him. Better or worse, who cares! Here we are now – let’s make the most of it – let’s bound and bounce and dance and prance and exuberate in our moment without bemoaning its inevitable demise. How happy humans would be if we could detach our attention from the shocking clock! That’s funny.
Tragedy is the story of time, comedy of timelessness. We grin at beginnings and groan at endings. Henry has nothing to do with hope or regret. He is here now – want to boogie? If not, no biggy, maybe later. Smarter-than-all-get-out humans gloom ourselves with thinking. That’s funny.