| Sunny Side Up June7-06 �2006, Kathleen Gibson Godspeed the furry creatures Some of you will hate this column - those who find pets mere nuisances, and the humans who love them, fools. Read no further, please. I don't mean to annoy you, but I differ. From the days of my childhood, I've loved God's little creatures. Living close to them brings me close to him - at least the ones with fur. I find it more difficult to appreciate pets that sport scales or fins or multiple legs. My adult son owns a boa constrictor - I'm not eager to hold that. I blame myself for that pet - it's what comes when, in the interests of educating your offspring about God's creation, you let them to keep earthworms in their pockets, or bring home salamanders, or attend the reptile display at the public library. When the handler asks for volunteers to 'help hold' the python, it might just be your child who volunteers - and everything leads somewhere. (Steer clear of teaching your children to appreciate reptiles, I learned. The 'worms' just get bigger, and must be fed tiny, white, furry creatures - that squeal in terror at the sight of those beady eyes fixed on them.) Pets are fairly accurate indicators of the quality of their owner's humanity. Our character reflects itself in the way we treat them - and how we bid them good-bye. We did a funeral for a cat recently, the Preacher and I. Just a short one. A prayer, a poem, spoken while the dirt lay loose over the small body in the hole under the spruce in the back yard. Between us, the owner leaned on her walker, cleared the lump from her throat. Just a few weeks earlier, she'd had to take her husband of sixty-three years to a nursing home. The Siamese had been his special friend. After he left, Missy stopped eating. Refused to hop onto the couch where he always sat, caressing the mocha sleekness that sheathed her purring motor. Less than a week before, the Preacher had taken Missy and her 'mom' to the nursing home. She traveled in his jacket, peering over the half-open zipper. Wide-eyed as a kitten. I wasn't there, but the Preacher said her old friend didn't seem to know her anymore. He reached out, said, 'How cute,' petted her, then became distracted. Missy knew, though. Home again, she lurched to her water bowl - she hadn't done that for a while - and later curled up on the couch. She knew, all right. But missing her man had taken its toll. A few days later she began failing. Her owner watched closely, tried to help, but the next night Missy died in her sleep. Just a quiet, faithful cat someone brought in from the cold. They'd loved her well for nearly two decades. There's a peck of sorrow in this old world. Perhaps that's why God designed for us to find some blessed distraction in furry caresses. And that blessing deserves at least a dignified good-bye and a word of thanks. Respond Home |
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