In some ways, crying "Anthropomorphism!" is about humbling humans by asking us if we know about animals as much as we think we do. There's only so much we can infer from a subjective state without having a mind-reading machine.

In other cases, crying "Anthropomorphism!" is about the uncomfortable feelings one has over the idea that we're not *that* separated from our animal kin, along with the implication that our dinner at one point may have cried out to God for mercy before getting placed in the oven. The whole idea behind the dolphin-free label is that the dolphin is probably named the squeaky equivalent of Tim and has two kids while the tuna is innocently happy with swimming about and being tasty. First it's the cleaner wrasse, but soon enough they'll be performing the test on Alaskan pollock and I'll have to wave goodbye to my filet-o-fish. As it stands, I can't even eat bacon anymore without remembering that pigs can be trained to shoot hoops and ride skateboards.

I'm placing my bets on a mind-reading machine. Only then will we understand the wrasse's true intellectual dominance over us (it's likely gathering intel from its clients and plotting our very demise as I speak).