As you’re probably aware from some of my writings and social media posts, I’m an “animal person.”
Obviously, I’m not an animal person like those found on The Island Of Dr. Moreau, although if I’m being honest, that has a certain appeal. (They’re called “Beast Folk,” by the way).
Alas, I’m merely a human animal who has a deep love for nonhuman animals and enjoy their company immensely. All things being equal, I’d rather hang with them than people – present company excepted, of course.
What does all this mean, you ask? First and foremost, it means the animals living in my home are treated like family.
Why?
Because they are family.
I’ve always been partial to rescue dogs and shelter cats, and currently my wife and I have two of each. I’m not sure how we settled on four companions, but that seems to be the furry feng shui that has worked best for us over the years.
That’s eight hairy ears, 16 legs and four tails to keep track of all at once. It’s a lot, and things don’t always go smoothly.
During the course of any given week, we’re likely to deal with vomit and explosive diarrhea. But you know what? Vomit and explosive diarrhea were integral parts of my college years, so I’m not gonna hold it against the critters.
Yet, even when I leave the house, I seek out animal friends.
Take Bobby, for example. He’s the cheeky chipmunk who lives in a hole right beside our patio. He’s a bit high strung, but that’s OK. If I were a chipmunk and there were stray cats in the neighborhood, I’d be high strung, too.
After greeting him, it’s off to the lake that is less than a mile from our house. Because we’re regulars and go there almost every day, the ducks and Canada Geese have gotten to know us.
At first, the geese would boo and hiss when I’d pass. I didn’t blame them … they’re Canadian and I’m American, so they have every reason to be elbows up. After realizing I wasn’t trying to annex them, though, we’ve become buddies.
They know I’m on their side, and several of them actually come up to me, greet me with a hearty honk, and trot beside me as I walk. We talk about hockey and Neil Young, and have an all-around good time together.
I also have a warm relationship with Muscovy ducks, the most populous waterfowl at the lake. My favorite, who I call Charlene, recognizes me immediately and quickly waddles toward me when she spots me on the walking path. I like to think it’s because of my friendly face and pleasant smile, but more likely it’s due to the fact that I always carry rolled oats with me.
Other ducks have realized I’m holding, so they’ve come to expect treats as well. I make sure they’re never disappointed.
Now, I don’t claim to have reached Dr. Dolittle status; I talk to animals with the understanding and expectation they won’t talk back to me. Well, my chihuahua Steve talks a little, but the words are mostly expletives – loud, piercing expletives.
Regardless, I’ve long had a close relationship with creatures great and small, and it has truly enriched my life.
Years ago a friend had a bearded dragon, Puff, and the little guy loved me. He enjoyed climbing up on my chest and falling asleep.
And I once knew a goat (I did not “know” the goat in the Biblical sense … being from Alabama requires me to address that stereotype and clarify) who would rub her head on me to the point I feared she might go bald. She was named Cliffie Cloven, by the way.
Turtles, frogs, rabbits, squirrels, lizards, chickens – if it clucks, quacks, bleats, mews, barks, honks, moos, neighs, crows, gobbles or ribbits – I want to be its friend.
And if it wants to be my friend, well, that’s about the best feeling in the world.
So yes, I am an animal person and quite proud of it. That being the case, once you’re done reading this please tell your dogs and/or cats I said hello.
