By Sean Sullivan Lagniappe columnist

Superman had his kryptonite, Vampires have the sun, Mr. T’s “A-Team” character B.A. Barracus had airplanes and I have whining.

What the heel was to Achilles the ear is to me, audible whining is damn near crippling to me. I say audible whining because that is the only form of whining that has any and all effect on me. I actually like to read whining prose, whiny is probably the adjective that best describes most of my columns for this publication, but just don’t let me hear whining. When I hear whining from children or animals it makes the calm, collected interface in my brain go cuckoo.

Whining pets are probably the least problematic of the duo. They usually are whining for an easily solved reason, which involves either food or a door. Pets that whine either want to be fed right then, which is mostly the annoyance Duchy of felines or they whine because they need you to use your “people magic” skills to open the door to let them pass in or out. I consider these minor annoyances because a scoop of Friskys or Fancy cat or letting a pet go outside is usually the end of the whining.

The only scenario that is not so easily solved is the pet whining to get in the house. The Mrs. and I have two dogs and one is an aging Labrador retriever who has hunted long days in freezing temperatures and sleet storms, who has braved swimming through flooded woods and wind-swept marshes. This is a dog who has bulldozed through skim ice charging to get a duck and now has become, in a few short years, a dog that will not go into the yard to use the bathroom if the sprinklers have moistened the grass.

How this once brave and sturdy dog has become the titty baby of today is a story for another time, but her whining is one of the things that pushes me towards a Michael Douglas in “Falling Down” moment almost daily. Now with gray hair taking over her black ones, our Lab has decided she does not need to be outside of the air-conditioning for more than the time it takes her to conduct her nature calls. Every second that she is outside and not actively “takin’ care of bidness” or sniffing the centipede grass for the perfect place to “take care of bidness,” she is whining.

This whine takes two audible forms, the plaintive wail of a hound dog caught in a bear trap and the tapping out of what seems to be some sort of doggy Morse code on the glass of the patio French doors. This whining and tapping often happens when I’m in the middle of dinner or an important phone call or attempting to concentrate on the WPMI evening news cast to hear what community name the anchors will screw up this time.

The other dog and our cat both whine as well, but nothing like the four-legged matron of the manor. Of course the beautiful thing is you can lock a whining pet in the garage and catch a moment’s peace, which is really not an option with children, if you want to keep HRS off your doorstep.

God knew something about how he had adults wired when he armed children with the particular vocal pitch, the tone that can’t be ignored by any adult who hears it. Sure there are some out there that have learned to cope with whining (usually preschool teachers and parents with more than three children) and can put on an un-fazed face for those around, but I know beneath their trained appearance of indifference the whining is systematically undoing their wiring. I wear my whine barometer on my sleeve and it doesn’t take too much of the behavior to cause high pressure.

To those of you who don’t have children and don’t spend time around young children I’ll explain the behavior. To the parents and care givers of young children just nod your head along with me. Whining doesn’t always come out of the gate full speed, unless there is some sort doomsday scenario like you’re passing the McDonalds or the Dora DVD won’t start. No, usually though it is like an ember that is being fanned and begins to grow hotter until it starts a flame. That flame of course is the full-blown whine, better known as a fit.

A fit is not a fit without some key ingredients like crying, pulling away and having their body go limp and falling to the floor. All the ingredients are sure to get an adult’s attention in one way or another. How badly a whine bothers me is usually based on how closely related to me the child is. Our daughter’s whine has the greatest affect on me, children of close family and friends next and the children of strangers are the least annoying. To be frank here though, the least annoying whining child is like being the nicest guy in Al Qaeda.

There are different kinds of whining out there and it is wise to know your enemy so study up. There is the “I want that thing” whine. The IWTT whine is an attempt by a child to gain some food or toy that has been denied. With the youngest children it soon disintegrates into a fit and older children sometimes show some deft and attempt to bargain for the desired item by telling you how good they will be and how well they will behave once they get the thing.

Then there is the “I am tired and nothing will make me happy whine.” This is the whine I’m most tolerant of since being tired can make people of any age want to throw a fit and cry. Then there is the “this is so unfair” whine (I’ll check with my parents, but I figure this is the one I was most guilty of as a child) where whining is used as an appeals process to a judgment handed down earlier by the 9th Circuit Court of Because I Said So. In this whine children will begin to learn how to argue bringing up reasons why the decision should be reversed. This is a slow ember burn whine and if my recollection is clear can sometimes lead to a spanking.

I think I need to stop now before I get mad at myself because of course I’m whining about whiners and I’m in no condition at my age to get a spanking.

Sean Sullivan is Lagniappe lagniappe columnist. Contact him at ssullivan@lagniappemobile.com.

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