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And They Shall Teach YouAnne HerndonFebruary 16, 1997Cedar Lane Unitarian Universalist ChurchBethesda, MarylandA few weeks ago, I drove over to a near-by shopping center to dash in for some last minute
dinner items. As I was getting out of my car, I noticed a large, burly man getting out of his pick-up truck which was parked directly in front of me. He slammed his truck door shut with bang,
spat some tobacco juice on the ground, and strode off with an air that seemed to say, "I just dare
you to mess with me". As I glanced at his truck, I noticed that it was plastered with all manner of
bumper stickers that appeared to confirm the image that I had of him. He could have played the
starring role in any tough-guy movie. Not only that, he looked like a tough guy who had had a
very bad day.
I forgot all about him as I was maneuvering the grocery store aisles, but when I came outside,
there he was again, on his way back to his truck. For some reason, he didn't seem so hardened
now and as we both approached our vehicles, I noticed that he was carrying something on his
shoulder and he was actually smiling. Upon closer inspection I realized that it was a tiny kitten.
And this 6'4" tough guy was stroking it and smiling, and cooing, "Did you think Daddy was going
to leave you at the vet's? Daddy wouldn't do that to his little girl. Daddy missed his little Tiger.
We're going to go home and get some dinner and hang out. Daddy wovey-lovey-dovies his little
girl." Such are the feelings of warmth, gentleness, tenderness, and affection that our pets bring
out in us, and such is the surprising diversity of human exteriors that shelter a heart which holds
dear a special companion animal.
In their book Earth Prayers, authors Elizabeth Roberts and Elias Amidon relate:
Animals, referred to by John Muir as our horizontal brothers, have long been recognized as
essential to our development and well-being. Throughout history they have played a major role in
human thought and culture. They inhabit our myths, fables, proverbs, and stories. There is a
profound, inescapable need for animals among peoples, for while animals have inhabited a world
without people, we have never lived without the companionship, example, and practical help of
animals.
Direct encounter with animals, meeting them eye to eye on their own ground, evokes a sudden
wonder and respect. Their vivid life brings us alive to the source that creates and sustains all
beings. Without such encounters we risk losing that part of ourselves which most deeply
resonates with nature - the heart of compassion.
If our greatest loss with the animals has been to lose touch with the reality of their existence, our
second loss has been to banish them from our minds. We assume they have nothing to teach us
about the predicaments of our existence. We no longer know how to listen to the wisdom of the
various four-legged, six-legged, finned, and winged creatures that share our life on this Earth. We
forget they are our ancestors as well as kindred. Long before we existed, they worked out the
round of life in thousands of variations, as though anticipating the experiments of human cultures.
Many of us forge a connection with these ancestors and kindred spirits in our relationships with
companion animals, for statistics show that almost 60% of people in the United States live with at
least one animal companion. And most people consider them members of the family. When I was
teaching, our classroom conversations eventually turned to discussions about the children's
homelife, and inevitably dogs, cats, gerbils, guinea pigs, rabbits, birds, fish, and hermit crabs were
lovingly included. Drawing pictures and writing stories about their companion animals was one of
the children's most popular subjects for expression. In fact, whenever I asked the children how
many people were in their family, the reply was usually something like, " Five, counting my guinea
pig".
In her book, The Shelter of Each Other, Mary Pipher writes: "Some families organize around
their pets. When I was a child, we had a Chihuahua named Coco Rosarita. We took her
everywhere with us - on trips, to the lake to water-ski and on our go-cart at the county
fairground. When our family could agree on nothing else, we could agree that we loved Coco. I
think of our friend's ill-natured one-eyed beagle Ned, who is much loved and discussed, much
photographed and held, by a family of dog-loving sentimentalists. Sometimes it seems as if a pet
becomes a metaphor for the family's love for each other."
Research data is beginning to catch up with what pet owners have intuitively known for years:
that living with an animal enriches the quality of life. A recent article in Social Work magazine
reports that
there is now evidence that animal companionship reduces loneliness and contributes to a general
sense of well-being throughout life. Pets have proved effective in reducing blood pressure and
promoting survival in a study of coronary artery illness. In a follow-up study of 93 patients who
returned home after heart attacks, only 6 % of those with pets died, compared with 44% without
pets at home. These results occurred independent of the existence of other social relationships,
leading the researchers to conclude that the presence of pets influenced people in ways that were
different from and in addition to human relationships.
The magazine also discussed a study which "found that elderly pet owners reported less
psychological distress and fewer visits to physicians over a one-year period than respondents who
did not own pets." "And in another study of individuals 65 years or older, pet ownership was
inversely related to depression." (p. 334)
Researchers state that "reasons given for the influence of pets on people include the friendship and
unconditional love and affection they both give and receive and their ready availability. The
presence of pets increases feelings of happiness, security, and self-worth and reduces feelings of
loneliness and isolation (both) on a daily basis and during separations or transitions such as
spousal bereavement". (p. 335)
Anecdotal reports and published data on the health benefits associated with pet ownership, have
led to the development of animal-assisted therapy programs. In these programs, animals which
have been comprehensively screened for suitable temperament are certified as therapy animals.
They visit health care facilities and work their magic upon patients suffering from a variety of
infirmities. A recent article in the Journal of the American Medical Association reports that
"(s)troke patients who can't speak communicate with dogs by issuing commands with hand
signals. Brushing the dogs helps to improve movement in the fingers and hands; a game of catch
may reduce deficits in balance and coordination".(p. 1897)
Often patients who fail to respond to anything else in the external environment will react with
affection to the appearance of an animal visitor. In the aftermath of the Oklahoma City bombing,
a five year old boy who had been rescued from the day-care center had stopped speaking. Efforts
of psychologists had failed, but when Shelli, a therapy dog arrived, he inched toward her and
whispered, "I had a dog once". (Good Housekeeping, p. 26)
Reading descriptions of the many benefits that animals bring to humans touches my heart, but
these glowing accounts don't really surprise me in the least. For during my lifetime I've been
blessed with the company of many companion animals and I've experienced first-hand their
marvelous gifts. I remember with great affection the pets of my childhood: the cats Kelly and
Folly, the dogs Casey, Hennessey, and Sport, and, of course, April, the white rabbit. But when I
search the memories of my heart no furry friend can compare to Patrick, our golden retriever,
who came into my life when I had children of my own.
It was years ago, when our three children were in elementary school, and we had been "petless"
for awhile, that we all agreed it was time to get a dog. I remember the day we brought him home.
How he struggled in the car to get back to his mother and all his brothers and sisters. The first
few weeks were challenging as he adjusted to his new family and we worked and worked on
housebreaking. We named him Patrick because there seemed to be something Irish about him, and
to make it really authentic, we called him Paddy.
He was a spirited puppy with his own distinct personality and the whole family was crazy about
him. During our walks, he charmed the neighbors with his friendliness and his extraordinary
looks. No matter what you were engaged in, with Paddy a new dimension was added. Life
seemed to be richer, and more exciting.
Of course he wasn't perfect and sometimes he'd distinguish himself in less than laudable ways. Although his house manners were impeccable, by the time he was a year old, he weighed 85 pounds and had his own mind when it came to walking on a leash. It was definitely time for obedience school. I took him. Our first class was on a bitter cold afternoon in January. Paddy was in his glory with 25 new-found doggy friends. I was distraught. He wouldn't sit. He wouldn't pay any attention to my commands. He was totally out of control and unmanageable, playfully lunging at all the dogs. The other dog owners looked at me with sympathy. The instructor looked at me with disdain. During the next several days I earnestly tried to put Paddy through the paces of what we had been taught. He seemed to be improving. So I drove to the next class with pleasant anticipation. But as I got him out of the car he reverted to his wild behavior once again. I knew I wouldn't be able to hold onto him because my muscles were so sore from the workout from the previous week. However, I was desperate and didn't want to miss the lesson. So I put him back into the car and went to class without him, the only human there without a dog to train. Unidentifiable without him, a nearby woman with a spaniel leaned over to me and whispered, "I wonder whatever happened to that dog Paddy ?" Paddy will always have a special place in my mother's heart. Once while visiting her, we left him in her care while we went out, warning her NOT to try to walk him because he was too strong and rambunctious. However, she couldn't resist the urge. In his eagerness to get out, he dashed down the stairs, pulling her over. She broke her clavicle. However, while the doctors were examining her X-rays, they discovered a spot on her lung which was diagnosed as lung cancer. So even though it was a traumatic experience, my mother forever after credited Paddy with the good fortune of early intervention and the eventual restoration of her health. As he grew older he did settle down. The two of us spent "quality time" together when he kept
me company while my husband was away on business trips, and as our children became teenagers
and eventually went off to college. By this time I came to realize that Paddy had taught me many
important lessons. He taught me about the value of a caring presence and about unconditional
love. For whenever I came home, he rushed to welcome me, oblivious to my faults, ignoring my
appearance, ready to defend me from all harm, following me from room to room, eager for us to
be together, sad when we were apart.
When I looked into his eyes, I tried to read what was concealed within them, something
primordial, cosmic, transcendent, and sacred. There was something beyond words that connected
me with him, and with other animals, all of us earthly creatures somehow related by our ancestry,
by our common beginnings, and by our common ends. Paddy taught me that we are all
connected by a sacred sense of mystery and wonder.
We took long walks in the woods together, enjoying the symphony of creation in every season.
Scampering along, Paddy was my spiritual guide as he led the way so that I could scrutinize the
minute details of nature for some ultimate message it might disclose, and so that I could search for
clues about the meaning of our existence. The natural world seemed to be a sermon by God, a
message of peace in times of chaos, a lens for bringing into focus the complexities of life, and a
signpost for direction toward the noble path. "We are a part of the earth and it is a part of us.
The perfumed flowers are our sisters; the deer, the horse, the great eagle, these are our
brothersall belong to the same family." We are all part of the interdependent web.
My love for animals has raised my consciousness to some of the grim realities that many of them
face in their lives, living as they do at the mercy of humans in a humanocentric world. And it has
brought into focus the moral and ethical dilemmas that I recognize regarding animals and their
place on this earth. Some decisions are easy for me. I'll never again attend a bull-fight or a horse
race. And I'll certainly never eat veal. But on the other hand, I do eat chicken and some of the
accounts I read about how chickens are raised are horrifying.
And as a modern consumer and user of advanced medicine, I know that I live well as a benefit of
animals. How do I reconcile myself to these facts? It is a constant struggle. I do try to eat low
on the food chain and live softly on the earth. But beyond that, the best I can do is acknowledge ,
in the words of Wendell Berry that "we depend upon other creatures and survive by their deaths.
To live, we must daily break the body and shed the blood of Creation. When we do this
knowingly, lovingly, skillfully, reverently, [and compassionately], it is a sacrament. When we do
it ignorantly, greedily, clumsily, (and) destructively it is a desecration. In such desecration, we
condemn ourselves to spiritual and moral loneliness, and others to want." So the wrenching task
that confronts me is how to live my life with a reverence for all other life, making difficult
decisions so that I bring about the least possible amount of suffering.
Paddy was a remarkable friend and when he died he reminded me how sharp are the pains of grief,
and how real is the loss of a special animal companion. This loss is not a trivial one, but one that
is worthy of mourning and a good grief.
Unfortunately, in our society, many people who are in grief over the death of an animal feel that
they must mourn in private, fearful that if they acknowledge it to the outside world, they will
appear to be some sort of foolish sentimentalist or even a social oddity. Some want to protect
themselves from the criticism of insensitive people who might make light of their loss. And some
fear that their disclosure might be met with awkwardness or apathy.
But feeling restricted in grief can make the mourning process even more intense. So it's
important to seek out sympathetic family and friends for support; there are many people around
who will understand. It's also therapeutic to have a meaningful ritual for saying good-by; it helps
to bring a sense of closure. And it's comforting to memorialize the pet in some way, perhaps with
a contribution to an organization that promotes the care and welfare of other animals.
When I think of the animal companions that I've been blessed with in my life, I am reminded of
the many wonderful moments that we have shared in our all-too-brief time together. They have
been my cherished friends, sharing their gifts, so simple, yet so profound. They have broadened
my outlook, helping me to see the world from a new perspective. Their love and devotion have
awakened what is innermost in me, urging me on to an ever-deepening sense of spiritual
connectedness. The animals of the world are truly a gift from a gracious Creator.
So whenever I see a person with an animal companion, be it a tall tough guy in a shopping center, or an elementary school child who counted a pet as one of the family, I'm touched by the moment. For I know that they are experiencing the joy of a special relationship. And I always wonder what they might be learning in the process. "(so) ask now the beasts, and they shall teach thee; and the fowls of the air, and they shall tell
thee; Or speak to the earth, and it shall teach thee; and the fishes of the sea shall declare unto
thee."
May we close with a prayer by Albert Schweitzer: Hear our humble prayer, O God, for our
friends the animals, especially for animals who are suffering, for any that are hunted or lost, or
deserted or frightened or hungry, for all that must be put to death. We entreat for them all thy
mercy and pity and for those who deal with them we ask a heart of compassion and gentle hands
and kindly words. Make us, ourselves, to be true friends to animals and so to share the blessings
of the merciful. Amen.
Resources Earth Prayers, Elizabeth Roberts and Elias Amidon, p. 247-249. The Shelter of Each Other, Mary Pipher, p. 236. Social Work Magazine, May 1995, Pat Sable, p. 334-341. Good Housekeeping, November 1995, Micki Siegel, p. 26 Journal of the American Medical Association, Dec. 27, 1995, Rebecca Voelker, p.1897-1899. "The Gift of the Good Land," Wendell Berry Job 12: 7-8 (King James Version)
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