I have been fortunate in my life to always have pets. Mostly cats growing up. When I was in Kindergarten, our family cat Jerry had kittens on my bed. From that litter, my parents let me keep one. Her name was Midnight. She passed away at 18 years old during my college years. Midnight literally grew up with me. She was the Holy One who kept watch when any of us were sick. She was always positioned on the afflicted area, doing her job proudly. She blessed our family with kindness: pure and given freely, unconditionally. SO many kitties have come after her - all of them wonderful. "Mids" set the bar high.
On my 40th birthday, a dear friend of mine blessed our family with a golden retriever puppy - 8 weeks old. I had never had a dog of my own. We had a brief stint with a poodle when I was 3 or so; however, we were a forever dedicated "cats only" family. Until that fateful day in 2002, when Benvolio Berry arrived on the scene.I had long been a pal to the dogs of friends. Aunt Jean would run around the yard, throwing tennis balls, frisbees and sticks. I would lie on their living room floors with their canine companions, playing tug-o-war or scratching bellies. Finally, when friend Karen was on a quest for a puppy to give her mother, she generously thought of me and my two young children, saying, "you guys are meant to be dog people." And so we were. 11 years later, our Ben has been the great teacher of the household, showing how no act of kindness is too small, no moment of compassion goes unnoticed and that love is the key to everything.
At times in our home, as my kids grew up, we had a number of cats, either adopted from the shelter or born of a rescued pet. (Insert laugh track here if you remember our motley menagerie.) Ben loved them all and they loved him. There are too many stories to even remember, but one rings clear for all three of us. One of our cats was an outdoor spirit. We allowed it because we knew, at the time of her adoption, that she had been reared in a barn. One time, Nellie had found a rabbit in our back yard. Usually she was a bird girl. This time, she hopped and ran around the yard, playing with this little creature that couldn't defend against unnecessary roughness.
Big Ben went out in the yard awhile later to play and found the injured rabbit. When the dog didn't come back in when called, I went out to investigate, finding him, stretched out with his paws in front of him, harboring the wounded bunny. When guilty Nellie came near, Ben would (uncharacteristically) growl. Periodically, he would nudge the injured creature with his nose, lick it's head. He would not leave his post. Ben looked profoundly sad. At first, I thought he was staking his claim to the rabbit as food. But learned quickly that my initial judgement was not true. I called the kids outside. They were immediately glued to the unfolding drama. Together, we witnessed the last moments of life: the weeping, the anointing, the praying, all through the gentle care of this big fluffy dog. We were silent (also uncharacteristic.) Even with his somewhat imposing size, his loud bark and gritty growl, Ben was the peacemaker. His respect for this little creature was formative for all of us.
Finally, when the rabbit had breathed his last, Ben allowed me in to prepare for burial. He stood and stepped back, allowing me to lift the bunny in a shovel, moving slowly and deliberately to the grave site the kids had prepared. Ben followed. After the ceremony (yes, we always crafted rituals for such things), he sat by the mound for several minutes before coming back inside. We were forever changed by Ben's compassion. To this day, we speak of it with reverence.
Of course I know that all loving pet owners have experienced similar miracles. Pets are great teachers. This particular one changed our family. My Mother often speaks of her cats caring for her, most remarkably after her recent surgery. Companion animals have been the subject of stories from the beginning. It's primitive, the nurturing experiences that animals offer, kind of a tutorial for humans, trying to reach back for those primal gifts.
We may have an edge intellectually, us humans; however, we don't always exhibit that unconditional love that is regularly modeled by our pets. That's not to say we don't have the capacity for it. If we can imagine ourselves in a situation, we can understand those going through it for real. Empathy, imagination, kindness, compassionate response - standard features of the human bean (thanks, Roald Dahl) - yes! Young ones exhibit this understanding, before not-so-positive modeling become learned behavior. If compassion is at our core, then positive practice, education and a world that models the universal "right" can shape the human family, like a dog holding vigil for a dying rabbit or a cat lying confidently on a surgical wound. Everything is possible with love!
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