Pets

Pets

   It's an odd term at times, something meant to describe something so loving and so close and yet something just one letter away from describing the opposite (pests).  Still, the term has been used with affection and devotion, and sometimes with degradation, especially toward women.  But overall, we are a world of pets, watching their eyes for signs of what they want and need, their vocal silence (or at least sounds we are unable to understand) turning their eyes into previews of what windows of the soul might be.  Scientists don't give much credit to pets' (or animal) emotions, often saying they don't have feelings or don't feel pain (thus somewhat justifying their usage for experimentation); but anyone who has ever "owned", or still has a pet, knows otherwise.  Once they are gone, an invisible but very real hole appears in our hearts, the realization that something magical and penetrating has left our lives and that this life lesson may be one of the more difficult ones we have to endure.

   My friend recently had to put down her dog of five years, a sudden auto-immune disease striking with incredible speed and debilitating her dog in just a matter of weeks.  Sometimes, the larger the animal is the more difficult the loss, but not always (we have two older German Shepherds, still walking with us but their gradual physical decline is evident with each passing year).  Our cats have all lived until the ripe old age of 20 and 21s, and our newest batch (all of our animals are rescues) are relatively young at 3,5,6 and 8.  But with each death, even if they had lived a long time, there was a hole, a wailing at the unfairness of this cycle of life.  We even saw this with our aquarium fish (as odd as it sounds, two clown loaches we had had for nearly 12 years.  When one got sick and eventually faded away, the other (which never left its side), just retreated to a corner and refused to eat, eventually passing as well despite being healthy.  My wife and I had never witnessed such behavior and yet, we began to wonder why not?  Why wouldn't all life, from ants to elephants to whales to fish have feelings and devotion and caring and companionship?  Why should we think such emotions are limited to we humans, a "superior" race that sometimes seems void of such natural ability?  In one piece by National Geographic, authors Brian Hare and Vanessa Woods postulate that humans didn't domesticate wolves but rather the opposite happened.

   But we've all been there, be it with watching close friends or family pass, to watching our pets reaching the end of their lives.  Adopting that cute puppy or kitten or lizard, we know at the onset that their life cycle is accelerated and likely we will spend years with them and then watch them (we hope) grow old and eventually pass.  And each time, we swear that never again will we put ourselves through that, that it was all too difficult, to have something so filled with unconditional love put us to shame by tolerating our moods and frustration and happiness and rules.  We know this even as we take on older animals (we adopted one of our German Shepherds from the Humane Society when she was ten and considered "unadoptable" because of both her age and her need for daily medication).  But while we often think that we are the ones "saving" these animals, perhaps we are simply and slowly learning that they are the ones saving us.  

   This was echoed when I expressed my shock and sadness to my friend after she put down her dog, telling her that some comfort could come from her dog knowing all the love and good times they both gave it.  And her reply was simply, "and all the love and good times he gave us."  It's a good lesson, perhaps the ultimate sacrifice, that animals come into our lives to show us how to just love living, to enjoy the smells of things and to purr and to be fascinated with the everyday, every day.  We forget, often, maybe too often, that life is happening and aging and growing and giving birth and evolving.  And part of this process is in completing the cycle, in dying.  

   Plastered on our refrigerator is just one reminder, a saying that adorns plaques and posters, one meant to be shoved in with so many other cute learning phrases such as, "Happiness is not having what you want, but wanting what you have."  There are many such phrases and quotes, but for some reason my wife and I chose this one, and over the years, only this one (at least, to stay stuck on our refrigerator):  It came to me that every time I lose a dog they take a piece of my heart with them; and every new dog who comes into my life gifts me with a piece of their heart.  If I live long enough all the components of my heart will be dog, and I will become as generous and loving as they are.

  At times of such losses, one can only hope that we freely enter the cycle, the swirl that is unavoidably called life, and will happily join all those who have passed and those who have yet to be.