Which, to my way of thinking, makes the rocks preferable:
Some college girl claims she was told to flush her “emotional support gerbil” by an airline employee. She did it. My first thought — a comfort gerbil? Give me a break. This is getting out of hand. If you cannot bear to part with your gerbil, peacock, snake, cat, prairie dog, wolverine, or even dog, then drive. In your own car. Maybe my trusty handgun provides me with emotional support. How about that?
I tend to side with George F. Will:
[T]he proliferation of emotional-support animals suggests that a cult of personal fragility is becoming an aspect of the quest for the coveted status of victim. The cult is especially rampant at colleges and universities, which increasingly embrace the therapeutic mission of assuaging the anxieties of the emotionally brittle. There, puppies are deployed to help students cope with otherwise unbearable stresses, such as those caused by final exams or rumors of conservatism.
Now I’m okay with, for example, Linus van Pelt’s blanket; it seems almost autonomous at times, but you can be sure it will never growl at anyone or crap on their shoes.