The Human-Animal Bond

Ever since I can remember, I have loved animals.  That sounds like such a cliche,  but for me it is true. They have been a part of my life in one form or another since I was a baby.  When I learned to crawl, or so I am told, I disappeared one morning from the middle of the kitchen floor where my mother had placed me so she could go about doing her house chores.  When she returned, I was M.I.A.  She became hysterical, of course, frantically searching the house to try to locate me.  I guess she didn’t anticipate the sudden leap I would make to being mobile: flip over, and go!  When she finally found me, I was snuggled deep within the legs of our ginormous great Dane, sleeping soundly.  Apparently, I had crawled through the gate of his playpen ( I guess there were large gaps, although not large enough for a great Dane to crawl through), and, finding him lying there, settled in for a nap.  It seemed he was pleased as punch to have me, curling himself around me protectively with his four very long legs, keeping me safe and sound. My mother left me there, figuring I was safer with the dog than anywhere else.

Since that time, I have never been without a four legged companion ( and they don’t always have to have fur: along with two dogs I now have a Russian Red Foot tortoise).  Animals, whether mine or someone else’s, have always been able to do for me what most people cannot: accept me totally and completely, without judgement or reservation, and without expectation or criticism. I can simply be my total and uninhibited self, no guards and no masks, and know I will be loved.  And I can take comfort in knowing that no matter what, they will unequivocally, totally and with their whole heart, be present for me when I need them, and remind me, in return, to be present with them too.  

I know most of us have read about all the potential health benefits of owning a pet: they can help decrease stress, decrease blood pressure, reduce feelings of loneliness, help boost your mood, increase physical activity and even act as a source of support in the home with children who may have emotional or social challenges.  Pets can be invaluable in settings such as nursing homes or hospitals, visiting either as therapy dogs or living in residence. And then there are the seeing eye dogs, as well as dogs trained to alert their epileptic owners of an oncoming seizure. And of course, there is the selfless service domesticated animals provide outside the realm of being a pet, for the military, police, medical research and the like. Any medication you have ever taken or any medical, life saving treatment you or a loved one has ever received, whether that be a family member, your child, a friend, a spouse or even your pet, has first been tested on an animal.  We owe them a great debt.

As a veterinarian for the past 23 years, I have been a consistent witness to this invisible, unmeasurable but very potent connection people have with their pets.  Very frequently, when I have diagnosed a cat with diabetes or a dog with heart failure or pancreatitis or inflammatory bowel disease or some other morbidity, the owner, more often than not, will cut me off partway into my didactic lecture on the disease process and say, “Yes, I know, I have that too”. 

 When I first started out in practice, I shrugged those experiences off as coincidences. But over two decades later, having experienced numerous encounters with clients whose pet ultimately begins to manifest the same disease process as their caregiver, it gives me pause. I have no double blind, randomized study to confirm my observations. But something in my heart tells me to open myself to the possibility that there may be a very sacred exchange taking place here.  

There is a book I hold dear to my heart called Kinship with All Life, written in 1954, by J. Allen Boone. In this book, Boone, a film producer, chronicles his relationship with Strongheart, a German shepherd who, in the 1920’s,  became the first major canine film star to grace the Hollywood scene (he  preceded Rin Tin Tin by two years and Lassie by at least twenty).  Born in Germany in 1917, he was initially trained as a police dog, and was “ discovered” by a couple of filmmakers who decided to bring him to the United States and make him a movie star. To my knowledge, he appeared in at least six movies and became a raging success, making his owners a lot of money and being one of the few dogs to be honored on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

At the beginning of the book, Boone lays bare the situation: Strongheart’s usual keepers, the writer and producer who originally brought him to the United States, needed to leave town unexpectedly for an extended period of time.  Strongheart needed a babysitter, and, in short, Boone was available and willing.  What transpires in this book is a beautiful and inspiring recounting of his experience living with Strongheart, a dog whose intelligence, stamina, agility and larger than life stature gifted Boone with some unexpected, but welcome, lessons.

Boone shares his experience of quite literally learning how to communicate with Strongheart. He does so not with commands, cues, demands or dominance or in any other form you would expect to be “trained” to communicate with a dog. Laying aside all preconceptions (and misconceptions), Boone quietly, patiently and methodically observes Strongheart, allowing the depth of Strongheart’s Being to rise up and lay itself before Boone’s very soul.  Boone receives a deep understanding of the dog and in so doing opens himself to the creation of a mental bridge with Strongheart that is rooted in that infinite, all encompassing binding agent we call consciousness. Boone and Strongheart were then able to communicate through this consciousness, this intelligence that lies behind the force of every living thing. It was obviously life-altering for Boone, and paved the way for him to be able to appreciate this relationship with all living things.

If a dog like Strongheart could teach an older man who already considered himself well educated and established something new about life and the nature of our relationships to every living thing around us, and affect him so deeply as to write a book about the experience that defied conventional lore, then what is it in our daily experiences that we can choose to see differently, to think differently about?  How can we humble ourselves enough to learn something new, about ourselves and about the companions with whom we inhabit this earth? How can we bring more mindfulness to our relationships with our animal companions, allowing more space for curiosity and quiet observation, asking what it is they are here to teach us?  How can we open ourselves to reverence? To the possibility that we might not know as much about our animal companions as we thought, and that somewhere, in that precious exchange between caregiver and pet, there is an animal allowing itself to be vulnerable to us and to the sticky mess that is our lives?  And in that vulnerability, what burdens may they be sharing with us, carrying for us, selflessly and unconditionally?

The poet, Mary Oliver, had a deep connection with animals, and has written many poems about her dogs. When she asked her dog, Percy, how she should live her life, she heard this reply:

“Love, love, love says Percy.

And run as fast as you can

Along the shining beach, or the rubble, or the dust.

Then, go to sleep.

Give up your body heat, your beating heart.

Then, trust.”