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by Bonnie Chandler
The truth first occurred to me a few years ago.
My children were still young, and I was busy with many activities, theirs and mine, fetching children back and forth and keeping track of a complicated schedule. One day, totally overwhelmed, I sank into a living room chair and abandoned myself to feeling frazzled and angry at having completely forgotten a commitment ― it might have been a children's birthday party or a dog club meeting; I have been known to forget both, and other things as well.
As I sat, all but grinding my teeth, out of the corner of my eye I suddenly noticed my cat. She had entered the room and was walking very slowly and gracefully across my line of vision, each foot placed with great care and deliberation. Reaching a small spot of sunlight on the floor, she sat down with her back to me and slowly, elegantly raised one hind leg to give it a single lick. Every movement was a thing of beauty. Then she sat back up, outlined in the ray of sunlight shimmering with dust motes. A loud purring filled the air.
I suddenly realized that while I had been watching her, my muscles had relaxed, my heartbeat had slowed down, and my anger was almost gone. I should be enjoying every moment like that, I told myself, instead of missing most of the joy in life worrying too much about things that, in the long run, really didn't matter that much.
At that moment, I noticed that, although she seemed oblivious to me, she had one ear cocked back in my direction ― and that was when it came to me.
She was doing it on purpose.
She was trying to calm me down by showing me what really mattered. That was her self-appointed task, and she knew exactly how to do it.
Once my eyes were opened, I started noticing that, except when the cat was hurrying to be fed or playing, she almost always moved with the same slow deliberation, enjoying every movement, and it always made me feel good just to watch her. And any time I was in a bad mood, she would appear, moving even more slowly and gracefully than usual, as if to emphasize the point.
Looking around, I saw that my dogs do the same thing, in their way. They throw themselves with such enthusiasm into everything we do together that it increases my enjoyment and distracts me from other concerns. In quieter moods, they snuggle against me and exude sheer happiness and comfort. At all times, their very presence reminds me that what really matters is enjoying whatever we are doing at the moment.
Later, when I acquired farm animals, I found that they, too, knew the score. I often linger in the barn long after the chores are done, absorbing the atmosphere of peace that accompanies the sound of animals munching hay. Sheep grazing across a green hillside are irresistible. I can hardly tear myself away from watching a mother hen clucking and fluffing herself out while cheeping chicks churn underneath, their eyes and beaks appearing and disappearing between her feathers, until everyone settles down to sleep. Hurrying to finish feeding on a busy day, I would look at my horse and long for a nice, companionable ride in the woods; sometimes I would make a silent promise ― "Later!" ― but sometimes I would let her influence me into deciding to put off my other business and take that ride, after all.
One of my goats is especially conscientious about helping me. Goats are wonderful animals, smart, interested in everything, easy to train and generally well behaved. But they are also attuned to their owners and sometimes take a delight in "getting their goat." It always seems that the day I am in a hurry is when they suddenly develop a perverse wish to be in the wrong places, or pretend to go where they should, but, with their head already in the doorway, screech to a halt and dash off sideways in a different direction. As I get more and more exasperated, invariably Heidi, the herd queen, comes to my side, looks up into my face with a searching expression, leans gently against my side, and simply exudes calmness and support. I stop to pat and thank her, and everything always goes better after that.
It is easy to let the day-to-day surface cares of our lives distract us from what really matters. Even though we often don't realize what is missing, the animals do, and they are willing ― nay, eager ― to supply it. Yes, they give us companionship, they give us someone to love and someone who loves us back. They give us refreshing interaction with a non-human point of view. But they also give us something even more important, something we often don't even realize that we need. That is why people are so attracted to animals, why we have this age-old custom of keeping "pets."
The purpose of pets is to show us how to live.
Bonnie Chandler with her herd
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