Pets and other animals

So many interesting themes emerged as we talked about pets. The discussion prompted thoughts on the contradictory relationship humans can have with animals, and how our attitudes and behaviours towards animals are often shaped by our experiences, culture and background.  Afterwards, some of us wrote up our responses to the theme in poetry or in prose. We hope you enjoy reading our memories and reflections.

Sue Ash

 “… the animal shall not be measured by man.  In a world older and more complete than ours, they move finished and complete, gifted with extensions of the senses we have lost or never attained, living by voices we shall never hear.  They are not brethren, they are not underlings.  They are other nations, caught with ourselves in the net of life and time, …” 

Henry Beston, The Outermost House New York: Henry Holt & Co, 1928

I found the discussion very interesting.  Some people, who initially believed they had very little experience of animals in their lives, had looked back and remembered situations where they had been involved with animals, often owned by someone else.  It was particularly amusing to hear stories from childhood when, unaware of possible mayhem or dangers, they had found themselves in unexpected situations with animals and how they had dealt with it. 

For my part I have had pets since childhood.  For me it was cats and dogs, but while my children were growing up we also housed a pet rat, mice, hamsters, snakes, giant snails and geckos.  

I once wrote this is poem for one of my dogs when he was nearing the end of his life: 

Ode to My Best Friend 
 
He’s always there when I need him 
He’s loving, faithful and true 
I forgive him the mess he makes round the house 
‘Cos he cheers me whenever I’m blue. 
 
He’s always close by and waiting 
For a smile or a touch or a kiss 
His eyes light up when I walk in the house 
Though in caring I’m often remiss. 
 
He looks distinguished these days 
With more grey hairs coming through. 
He’s deaf as a post but staying quite slim, 
My goodness, how the years just flew. 
 
No doubt by now you’ve guessed it 
I’m talking about Max, my old pet 
Almost fifteen years my best friend, 
Family member, protector, and yet . . . 
 
Who’d have thought a mere animal 
Could mean so much in one’s life? 
He’s been here for good times and bad 
Helping me through trouble and strife. 
 
Our time together is short now 
When he’s gone, don’t know what I’ll do 
I’ll have to find a new best friend 
Who knows, I might even choose you! 

Shane Murray

Tinvaun

Rex was not allowed in the house but would often leave his post by the open door and very slowly edge into the kitchen.  He was adept at herding the cattle to the sheds at milking time. You heard the cows before you saw them – a thunderous clamour of hooves and bellowing that swept up the lane, bursting into the yard as a broiling wave of heads, legs and haunches; Rex constantly snapping at heels and darting between legs. We lined up by the wall at a safe distance.

With the cows installed in the shed, Uncle Dick perched on a three-legged stool, hands deftly squeezing the paps of a contented cow. Dick was a dead ringer for the actor Sam Kydd. Small, wiry, with a twinkle in his eye and a handsome smile. Wild cats would peer over the loft above the pens, then step nimbly down the old ladder and slink across the concrete floor, halting at intervals for signs of danger. Dick squirted a long stream of hot frothy milk into a nearby bowl. As they rushed forward, he angled the teat and squeezed a jet of milk into their faces. We stood on the threshold laughing. The cats shook their heads, licked their faces, then dipped into the bowl, lapping furiously before disappearing back to the loft.

I once stepped between two cows waiting to be milked. I was stroking a smooth flank, intent on touching that immense head when the cow stepped to the side and pinned me against the shoulder of her neighbour. I was stuck fast and scared.

“Dick!” I howled. He was up off his stool, grinning at my predicament and muttering a quick command. I was released.

At meal times, Auntie Kitty’s quiet presence filled the kitchen. Big and broad, always wearing a dress, apron and wellingtons; sleeves rolled up to expose muscular forearms. A plain face with a shy smile that caused her nose to crinkle and momentarily raised the spectacles her small eyes hid behind. Kitty had a ventriloquist’s mouth – her soft brogue slipping from lips that barely moved.

Then the shock of her sudden wild roar as she lunged at the dog:

“GET OUT TO HELL AND RATTLE ABROAD!!”

Rex, gone in a black and white blur, fleeing Kitty’s wrath for farting in her kitchen. Composed again, she served us at the table, smiling gently. The food was wonderful –  just like herself.

Margaret Kendall

“I’ll come if you get me a cat” he said, with his cheeky seven-year-old grin.  We did, of course.  She was about eighteen-months old, raised from a kitten by a friend of his short-term foster parents.  Their house was busy with lots of children, cats, dogs, a lizard in a tank and chipmunks in a cage in the garden. Our house must have seemed so very quiet by comparison, but the cat helped a lot.  He chose the name “Snowy” for her, although she was much more black than white, as that was the name of a cat he’d known previously.  She was used to children, happy to be stroked and cuddled.  She purred and only seldom gave a squeaky little miaow if she had reason to protest.  At bedtime, he’d fall asleep after a story (or three!) with her in his arms.  We’d retrieve her carefully later and put her outside which was what we thought cats liked best, from our own experiences of cats from our childhoods.  We didn’t have a cat flap.

When we moved house a few years later, we joked about being glad to be away from our neighbour’s noisy cat, who miaowed very loudly under our bedroom window on Saturday and Sunday mornings.  But then we heard those miaows again: we hadn’t realised that it was actually our quiet little cat with such a big voice.  She didn’t like having to wait for her breakfast till later than usual at the weekend!  

She lived a long time, our son now has his own flat and another cherished black and white cat, but we all remember Snowy with love.  She played an important part in our lives.  He once gave us this drawing of her he’d done for us as a Christmas present and we put it in a frame to keep it safe. 

Annette Bennett

Snowy

My young friends
Alex and Josh
Have a pet rabbit
Called Snowy
They love him very much.
He is basically black
Has silky smooth ears
And fur so soft to touch,
A nose that constantly twitches,
With a fluffy tail
That bobs up and down
When he hops
.
He is quite elderly
Not in his youth
And lives inside
With the family
So he’s cosy
Has company
There to reside.

I’ll tell you the truth
Snowy’s favourite pastime
Is munching a snack
Of kale and special
Rabbit food
Always when he can
Not just
When he’s in the mood
For breakfast
Or lunch.

The children let
Him out regularly
To hop about
Stretch his legs
Have some exercise
Take the air.
Into the garden he goes
Exploring
Hiding,
But quickly those
Fallen clothes pegs
And plastic building
Bricks move
In case they are nibbled
And Snowy doesn’t approve.

Then tired once again
Back into his own
home he goes,
Safe and secure
To have a rest
Put his paws up
Maybe more kale
Possibly some hay
To eat
An extra treat.

Yes Snowy
I would say
You truly are
The best dearest pet
Two small boys
Could wish for,
Better than all
Their toys
To care for
And adore.

Jolene Sheehan

My mum’s life, as the child of a dog breeder, before I was born must have influenced her mixed attitude towards dogs. Although she grew up with them and knew they could provide comfort, she has shared that the abundance of them in her life was also challenging. Also, away from home, she was bitten by dogs a couple of times and this left her with a natural wariness.

As a child, I struggled with sleeping in my own bed, and in an effort to help me settle, my mum got me a border collie named Kerry. However, it soon became apparent that my mum’s understandably conflicted feelings about dogs, plus the fact her and my stepdad worked long, varied shifts made Kerry an unsuitable addition to our house. So, off she went to live with my grandparents. 

This was only four doors down the street and so Kerry remained a great friend, as dogs often can be. She was a happy, chilled out pet despite the fact she didn’t get to move very much. Though I’d agreed to take on walking her, as the rest of the family were too busy, I regret to admit I  was young and irresponsible and didn’t take her for exercise as often as would have benefited her (and me!)  I think the guilt that I carry from not walking Kerry very much and the learning I gained about the responsibility a pet brings has combined to put me off wanting a dog or other pet as an adult.

Adding to this, the birth of my son, Caelan also brought to the surface a sense of protectiveness towards small children when dogs were present. Inherited fears of him being bitten emerged, fears that I hadn’t even realised I had until becoming a parent myself. I saw things from his vulnerable perspective and would physically react, instinctively ready to fight if a dog came too close. This sometimes led to confrontations with dog owners who dismissed the potential dangers, claiming their dogs were simply playing. I wanted them to understand that, from the viewpoint of a small child or someone harbouring deep-seated fears, even a playful dog can appear intimidating and frightening.

Finally, as our group chat came to a close, my mind widened the topic out, and I reflected on the symbolic significance of animals and how different spiritual traditions offer their own interpretations of their meanings. This can serve as a fascinating way to connect with our own psyche. However, I also see this as an example of projection and how we often anthropomorphise animals, attributing human qualities or problems to them. I wonder if this arises from our own lack of openness and curiosity about the unique experiences and perspectives of other species.

So my ponderings conclude with the thought that, no matter my experience and feelings about pets, I recognise that animals are wonderful in their own right and deserve respect for their uniqueness as well as our shared experience as fellow creatures, cohabiting this earth.