Blessed by Animals
"You can always tell about somebody by the way they put their hands on an animal.: — Betty White
“An animal’s eyes have the power to speak a great language.” — Martin Buber
One thing I have noticed: My blog posts that include pictures of animals tend to get more views than the ones that don’t. Huh. What’s up with that?
Personally, I don’t think it’s such a big mystery.
This is my friend Toben with his foster kitten, Butternut. Toben says Butternut likes to be attached to him at all times. And I have to say that’s pretty adorable. I speak with authority because I got to witness Butternut do her thing at “Bless the Animals” Sunday at church. Toben was one of the service leaders. As such, he was up front the whole time, sometimes speaking from the pulpit, sometimes addressing the children from a rocking chair beside the pulpit, and sometimes sitting behind the pulpit with the other service leaders.
Butternut rode around on Toben’s shoulder the entire time, with one exception. When Toben spoke from the pulpit, he picked Butternut up and set her on the pulpit. She sat there gazing out at all of us — a room filled to the brim with people, along with (barking!) dogs and other cats — maybe even other animals that I didn’t see. And that tiny baby kitten was completely unperturbed by all the commotion. Why should she be worried when she had her human Daddy there to cuddle and protect her?
Oh my melting heart.
You have probably figured out by now that I love animals. Domestic, wild. It doesn’t matter. I simply love animals. And I am far from being the only one. (See my opening statement.)
Years ago, I traveled to Australia and New Zealand. The trip was rich with wonderful experiences. A highlight for me was the chance to hold a koala in my arms at the Lone Pine Animal Sanctuary in Brisbane. Of all the photographs I have of that trip, this is the one I pull out again and again.
Oh, my melting heart.
But why bless the animals?
Well, in my opinion, they bless us. Over and over again. They open our hearts, a blessing for us. Pets that teach us about love bless us. Baby animals, like Butternut, bless us by enabling us to strengthen our ability to care for others. Wild animals that add beauty and diversity to our world bless us. And humans — many of them — respond as if iron drawn to a magnet. People often spend enormous sums of money caring for their pets. Food, vet bills, toys, training classes, dog walking fees. People often plan entire vacations to see wild animals in their natural habitats. African safaris. Bird watching excursions. Whale watches. Animals can expand our gentleness, love, curiosity, humility, joy, and comfort, blessings all. And so, for the many ways they bless us, we bless them in return.
Animals know things in ways that most humans don’t. I marvel at their sensing abilities. For example, when I was confined to bed rest because I was threatening miscarriage many years ago, my cat Jesse climbed onto the bed with me. In itself, that was far from unusual. Jesse loved to cuddle with me whenever he could. But that day, he climbed onto my belly and curled up into a little ball. There he stayed, quietly keeping me company until I had to leave for the hospital. Jesse had never slept on my belly before. And he never did again. Just that one time, when he somehow knew something was up with my belly. I swear he wanted to help. And he did help, because he brought me comfort when I was losing my baby. All these years later, I am still awed at Jesse’s ability to detect something that I was feeling on the inside but that was far from evident from the outside.
Oh, my melting heart.
There’s another gift animals give me — the gift of challenging my assumptions. In particular, I am drawn to the cross-species bonds animals can form with each other (including, if I am honest, the bonds humans and other animals form). The story of Mzee and Owen is one I find particularly fascinating and heart-warming.
Mzee was 130 years old – middle aged for a giant, 4-foot long male Aldabra tortoise. A cold-blooded reptile, Mzee was characterized as “grumpy” at the Haller Park in Kenya, where he lived. He spent his days, as tortoises do, swimming, eating, and sunning – but not socializing, for reptiles do not form attachments to others, not even to animals of their own kind.
Late one night, park managers added a new occupant – a baby hippo – to the enclosure where Mzee lived. Tired and frightened, the baby made a bee-line for Mzee and tried to hide behind him. Annoyed, Mzee moved away. But the baby followed, persistent in his quest for connection. Mzee moved away again. By morning, however, the tortoise and hippo were snuggled up together, beginning a celebrated, improbable friendship.
The baby hippo had his own story. He had lived in a pod of hippos typical for the sociable animal they are. Roughly 20 hippos comprised this particular pod on the Sabaki River in Kenya. But in December 2004, when the baby hippo was about a year old, the waters of the river flooded and his pod was washed to the mouth of the river. When the December 26, 2004, tsunami struck, the baby's pod was washed away entirely. The baby was the solitary survivor.
The scared, wet, slippery, 600-pound orphan needed a home. Rescuing him proved difficult and might have been impossible were it not for the bravery of one rescuer, Owen Sobien, who threw himself onto the hippo long enough for others to capture the baby in a net. Thus the baby hippo gained his name – Owen.
Park managers worried about Owen. He was still a nursing baby. He was too young to know how to forage for his own grass. And of the animals that lived Owen’s enclosure – the bushbacks, vervet monkeys, and tortoises – none seemed right to model how to eat. Owen refused the leaves park managers left out for him. But within days, Mzee had taught Owen which leaves to eat, demonstrating how to chew them.
As time passed, the unlikely friends developed ways of communicating. Mzee would nip at Owen's tail when he wanted to hippo to go for a walk. Owen would take Mzee's rear foot in his mouth when he wanted the tortoise to move forward. Even more curious, they developed their own vocal language – a series of deep rumbles that they exchanged constantly – different sounds than they would have ever made in other circumstances. (Owen and Mzee: The Language of Friendship, by Isabella Hatkoff, Craig Hatkoff, and Dr. Paula Kahumbu. Published in 2007 by Scholastic Press, New York.)
Oh, my melting heart.
A lot of people besides me love stories like that. A quick search of the internet produces dozens of unlikely friendships: The cat and the black crow that play together. The mother cat who welcomes an orphaned pink panda to her litter of kittens. The lioness who adopts a baby oryx. The lactating dog that mothers a litter of orphaned kittens. The sheep that befriends a depressed, orphaned baby elephant, giving him enough companionship to make him want to eat again. And so on.
The stories are heartwarming. They defy expectations. And they ask me to look again at my assumptions.
Creation, so vast and mysterious, offers us companions that help remind us we are part of nature — not above it, not in control of it, not capable of fully understanding it, but just part of it. We are, in fact, animals, too — just one species in a vast network of miraculous living creatures. Blessing the animals is one way to offer thanks for creation, for beauty, for cross-species companionship, for the mystery that surrounds all of it. For me, there’s humility wrapped up in that gratitude — and humility, in my opinion, is an attitude that often stands human beings in good stead.
So many animals — domestic and wild, named and nameless — have blessed my life. My life is richer for them, my heart bigger, my family circle wider, my understanding deeper. How lucky I am. And so, with a heart filled with gratitude, I bless the animals.
Love,
Sylvia
Loved all of this! Animals are such a comfort and inspiration.
Oh, my melting heart. Thx Sylvia