We don’t have any pets. At least not beyond the spider near the sink that I don’t have the heart to release outdoors in winter temps. But I have had. I think the reasons our pets mean so much to us is that they’re like people in so many ways, but nonjudgmental. They accept us with all our quirks and despite occasional—generally unintentional—neglect. A recent family text chain about the sad occasion of having to put a dog down got me musing about my history of pets. We get remarkably attached to them. Growing up we had dogs, cats, birds, turtles, guinea pigs, fish, and we tried a short-lived attempt at hamsters. My wife grew up with a cat but became allergic after leaving home, so we had to avoid furry pets when my daughter was young.
We had fish, hermit crabs, and a bird. The bird, a parakeet named Archie (short for Archaeopteryx), was with us at a difficult time. Things weren’t going well at Nashotah House, but I had no idea that I was in the cross-hairs. Archie was a suspicious bird. We tried to get him to talk (mostly “nevermore”) but he wouldn’t. I tried to get him to perch on my finger—my Mom could get birds to do it—but he only ever bit me. Still, he was part of the family. When the seminary axe fell, he moved to two different apartments with us, remaining solitary but stolid in tumultuous times. In the second apartment he stopped singing. My daughter thought something was wrong, but we knew from a previous trip to the vet that we couldn’t afford another. I was unemployed and my wife had to look for a better-paying job. Then I found Archie dead. That day is still, all these years later, very difficult for me to think about. How we cried. How we snuck back onto land owned by the seminary to bury him in the woods. How empty our small apartment felt.
Emotions are difficult things, but they’re what bind us together as humans. We all know loss and sadness. Many of us have poignant memories of pets who, although we supposed we’d outlive them always thought they’d be there at least another day. Is there anything that brings us more together? We think anyone who doesn’t shed a tear at Old Yeller is somehow not really human. Certainly less human than our adopted animal family members. How wonderful not to be judged by someone who knows us perhaps better than we know ourselves.
Steve A. Wiggins 