Nom, Nom, Nom

I worked at a very small zoo once, so small that all of the staff shared one office trailer, which included the table where we would take lunch.  Being frugal (read: broke), I never went out for lunch, instead eating at that table every day.  There were two other colleagues who also ate in every day, a keeper and the groundskeeper.  The groundskeeper was a big man with a big appetite, and he had a huge lunch every afternoon, sometimes packed from home, more often bought at a convenience mart and brought back to the zoo to be consumed.  

He didn't just eat his lunch.  He practically made love to it, the grunting, groaning, slurping sounds he made as he parted fried chicken from its bone made a shudder run down my spine - I usually hurried to be finished my lunch before he got back.  It was even worse for the other keeper.  I would sometimes watch him as the groundskeeper ate, the eyes bulging from their sockets, his face taut with disgust, until he would eventually storm outside to eat his lunch out by the manure heap.  The swarms of flies, apparently, were less revolting company that the groundskeeper.

That was when I learned the definition of misophonia, the intense hatred of certain sounds, with eating sounds being a common trigger.

What I've found incredible is that, as much as the sounds of other people eating can annoy me, I find the sounds of animals eating to be endearing, no matter how loud or sloppy.  Whether its the endless lapping of my family dog's tongue as she works on her solemn quest to finally lick all the way through the bottom of her food bowl, or the contented little grunts that capybaras make as they churn their way through sweet potatoes and carrots, or the crunching of shells in a macaw's beak, or even the wet, rending, tearing sounds of a tiger ripping apart a carcass (which, to be fair, didn't sound that different from our groundskeeper), there's something about the sounds of a happy animal eating that just makes me smile.  (The same with snoring - I came this close to going on the lam after smothering my college roommate with a pillow for snoring, but the snores of a sleepy animal are extremely soothing to me).  

I suppose a big part of the difference is that, unlike the groundskeeper, or my college roommate, or any of the other people who irritate me with their noises, the welfare of pets and zoo animals is 100% my responsibility.  It's my job to make them happy or comfortable, whether it's a good meal that they obviously enjoy or feeling comfortable enough to sleep soundly in my presence.  When I hear those cheerful chews, or steady snores, I don't hear a lack of consideration or annoying sounds.  I hear them as sounds of satisfaction, hallmarks of a job well done.