“The Character of a Nation
is determined by how its animals are treated” Ghandi
by Christopher Nyerges
[Nyerges
is the author of “Extreme Simplicity,” “Self-Sufficient Home,” and other books.
He can be contacted at www.SchoolofSelf-Reliance.com.]
Everyone
who has a close pet knows that the dog or cat becomes a part of the family, no
longer a mere “animal.” And everyone
whose close dog or cat dies, typically feels the same pain – sometimes even
deeper – as if a human close friend has died.
Love knows no boundaries and we develop ties with humans and other
animals.
The
world is full of stories, and monuments, and books devoted to a favorite dog or
cat, which is evidence that these beings are indeed close to our hearts.
I
once heard radio host Dennis Prager
claim – who apparently had no pets – that it is only those people who have not
developed deep human relationships who become very close to their pets, as if
the animal relationship is their stepping-stone to a “real” human relationship.
Such a statement could only be made by someone who has never experienced a
close animal relationship, or he would not have made such an erroneous
statement. (To be fair to Mr. Prager,
it’s certainly possible that some close animal-human relationships
develop because the person did lack the ability to have close human
relationships.)
My
perspective is that those who have the ability to enter into a close
relationship with an animal have even more developed feelings than the average
person. These animal relationships
develop not because of a lack in some area, but because of a greater
development in the area of feeling and caring.
That’s how I see it anyway.
So,
of my many close animal friends, Cassius Clay, my purple ribbon pitt bull who I
loved, died at age 17 on Easter Sunday, 2008.
I’d grown so close to him, and my daily schedule was so structured
around him, that I could barely believe he was gone. It was devastating on
certain levels, and like when anyone you love dies, suddenly, for awhile, the
world is a very dark and dreary place.
In
the few days after he died, I reviewed in my mind all the things that he
“taught” me, and all the ways in which I felt I became a better person because
of Cassius. I know regular folks don’t
think that dogs “talk,” but that’s because most folks believe that language is
entirely linguistic, when in fact, words are just one small part of
communication. Cassius talked to me
regularly, with the tone of his voice, his eyes, his sounds, his body
motions. I learned to listen and
generally understood what he was “saying.”
I
buried him in a section of a nature preserve in Highland Park, and invited a
few friends to join me in a little ceremony.
I’d planned to plant some herbs over his grave, talk about Cassius, show
some pictures, and maybe let people who knew Cassius say a thing or two.
I
was overwhelmed with the approximately three dozen people who showed up in the
hilly amphitheater section of the property, and, with some friends, we set out
chairs and laid down carpets so everyone could join us somewhat
comfortably. I know that many who came
never met Cassius, so they came to join me in my saying goodbye to my friend.
I
shared some highlights of how Cassius came into my life, and showed pictures,
and we had some music. With so many people, I was uncertain how to proceed, but
I began to ask people to share their experiences with Cassius, and if they
never met him, to share their experiences with their own close animal friend.
It
took over an hour for everyone to share their stories, and it was a tearful
event even for people who didn’t know Cassius. Many shared stories of animals
that were every bit a part of the
family, and how their relationship with that animal was life-enhancing.
When
done, I passed out a little leaflet about Cassius, just like you might get when
you went to a human funeral or wake.
And then I invited people to plant various flowers and herbs over
Cassius’s grave, and to water those plants.
For
me, it was a necessary part of the transition of life to death, to take the
time to acknowledge a friend. As a child, I recall when our pet dog died, it
was taken to the vet who then somehow “disposed” of it. I vowed to never do
that again, not to a family member, and not to a pet.
Death
is part of life, and it does not mean we should forget. Life goes on, but we should never forget the
value that others had in shaping our character, and making our life worth
living.
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