juantoo3
....whys guy.... ʎʇıɹoɥʇnɐ uoıʇsǝnb
I began this thinking to add to the other thread about pets, but as that one seems more inclined towards consolation, which is right and well in its place, I thought it better to begin a new thread to get some thoughts from others on the subject.
I must say, I saw some pretty good lines of thought presented. Some I have considered before, some I have not. But I am still lost in quandary on the subject.
It really has hit close to home recently. I lost my dog, Cricket, in the middle of September. She was a good dog, as dogs go. But she was, after all, a dog. She loved to chase squirrels and birds, and yes, any neighborhood cat that dared into her yard. She barked at anything that went by. She ate and drank, pooped and peed, and scratched and wagged her tail. She was nothing extraordinary, just special to me.
Near as I can tell, she was about ten when she passed. Pretty old for some, left to their own devices on the side of the highway. Not nearly as old as others, kept as surrogate children and lavished with as much care as a human child might expect, down to and including medical intervention.
So, my quandary: where is the line to be drawn, between caring too much and caring too little.
Allow me to explain. We cherish our pets, albeit some more than others (pets and humans). Yet, does the love we lavish on our beloved pets really make any difference in what comprises their spirituality, presuming of course that animals do indeed have spirit? Does our love define which animals “make it” to heaven?
What differentiates between two different dogs, for example. I saw a reference to Native American belief that all life has spirit, even trees and rocks. (*I am inclined to agree with this belief.) Yet, it is also known that dog meat is a relished treat, at least among some tribes. Dog is a holiday meal, the equivalent to the American Thanksgiving turkey. The image of a young Indian child going into the woods with his bow and arrow to shoot a rabbit or pheasant for supper with his trusty canine companion at his side is a little, how can I say?, not accurate. The trusty companion was just as likely to become supper. How does the spirit of the dog that became the holiday supper greet the person who dispatched him/her when they meet in the Happy Hunting Grounds?
I had a puppy once, some years back, that became palsied very young. I took it in and “nursed” it myself. (If you can picture that, a grown guy nursing a puppy!) I used to dip my finger in the warm formula and let him suck it off of my fingertips. And I worked with that pup, hard, trying to build up his muscles so he could function anywhere close to normal. It didn’t happen. I made a choice, between allowing this creature I had grown to love very much to live a miserable life of an invalid, or putting it out of its misery and ending its suffering. I made the choice, and it was a hard one to make. I would not allow another to put him down. I did it myself, in the most caring way I could think to do. And I cried. And I still cry, and it’s been twenty years, but I do not regret the choice I made.
Before someone thinks I am just a little off kilter (OK, way off kilter), what of cows? How will that bovine that became our last Micky D’s hamburger greet the person who ate it in heaven? How attached do we dare become to what will one day be our supper? Is our attachment, our lavishing of love on a creature, what distinguishes and separates which animals will see heaven and which ones won’t? What of the cat or raccoon that keeps getting into the garbage can at night and spreading the trash all over the yard? What of the squirrel we “accidentally” ran over on the highway? What of the coyote that killed the neighbor’s sheep, and you (good neighbor that you are), shot at the first opportunity?
Of course, it is easy to take this to extreme, the old “meat is murder” campaign I hear too often. But is it, really? After all, if all life has spirit, then we are responsible to and for that spirit, are we not? “So become a vegan!” But wait a minute, even vegetables have feelings. I remember reading of some experiments in the ‘70’s that showed carrots, among others, have feelings. What of the tree we cut down for firewood last year?
What distinguishes between our cherished goldfish kept in a bowl on the desk from the trout or halibut that was last Friday’s supper?
Is sentience the proper delineation? Then how do we define sentience? How do we know that trees and other plants are not sentient, especially if we cannot speak their language? It is Native American belief that trees and plants have their own sentience. For that matter, even rocks have their own spirit and sentience.
I grieve for my dog. I miss her, terribly. I did the best I could under my meager circumstances for her. Yet I still wonder if it was enough, if the best I could do was good enough. She was not my surrogate child, she was not human. I did not treat her that way, and I still do not treat her pup that way, although I find myself paying more attention to Randy now that her mother is gone. My dogs have been great companions in an otherwise empty house. Yet, love them as I do, they are dogs. (even as I write this, my heart wells up in my throat)
Will Cricket (or Beau, the pup I put down) forgive my indiscretions? Can they forgive me? Should I forgive myself? What is the right thing in God’s eyes?
Or am I barking up the wrong tree?
I must say, I saw some pretty good lines of thought presented. Some I have considered before, some I have not. But I am still lost in quandary on the subject.
It really has hit close to home recently. I lost my dog, Cricket, in the middle of September. She was a good dog, as dogs go. But she was, after all, a dog. She loved to chase squirrels and birds, and yes, any neighborhood cat that dared into her yard. She barked at anything that went by. She ate and drank, pooped and peed, and scratched and wagged her tail. She was nothing extraordinary, just special to me.
Near as I can tell, she was about ten when she passed. Pretty old for some, left to their own devices on the side of the highway. Not nearly as old as others, kept as surrogate children and lavished with as much care as a human child might expect, down to and including medical intervention.
So, my quandary: where is the line to be drawn, between caring too much and caring too little.
Allow me to explain. We cherish our pets, albeit some more than others (pets and humans). Yet, does the love we lavish on our beloved pets really make any difference in what comprises their spirituality, presuming of course that animals do indeed have spirit? Does our love define which animals “make it” to heaven?
What differentiates between two different dogs, for example. I saw a reference to Native American belief that all life has spirit, even trees and rocks. (*I am inclined to agree with this belief.) Yet, it is also known that dog meat is a relished treat, at least among some tribes. Dog is a holiday meal, the equivalent to the American Thanksgiving turkey. The image of a young Indian child going into the woods with his bow and arrow to shoot a rabbit or pheasant for supper with his trusty canine companion at his side is a little, how can I say?, not accurate. The trusty companion was just as likely to become supper. How does the spirit of the dog that became the holiday supper greet the person who dispatched him/her when they meet in the Happy Hunting Grounds?
I had a puppy once, some years back, that became palsied very young. I took it in and “nursed” it myself. (If you can picture that, a grown guy nursing a puppy!) I used to dip my finger in the warm formula and let him suck it off of my fingertips. And I worked with that pup, hard, trying to build up his muscles so he could function anywhere close to normal. It didn’t happen. I made a choice, between allowing this creature I had grown to love very much to live a miserable life of an invalid, or putting it out of its misery and ending its suffering. I made the choice, and it was a hard one to make. I would not allow another to put him down. I did it myself, in the most caring way I could think to do. And I cried. And I still cry, and it’s been twenty years, but I do not regret the choice I made.
Before someone thinks I am just a little off kilter (OK, way off kilter), what of cows? How will that bovine that became our last Micky D’s hamburger greet the person who ate it in heaven? How attached do we dare become to what will one day be our supper? Is our attachment, our lavishing of love on a creature, what distinguishes and separates which animals will see heaven and which ones won’t? What of the cat or raccoon that keeps getting into the garbage can at night and spreading the trash all over the yard? What of the squirrel we “accidentally” ran over on the highway? What of the coyote that killed the neighbor’s sheep, and you (good neighbor that you are), shot at the first opportunity?
Of course, it is easy to take this to extreme, the old “meat is murder” campaign I hear too often. But is it, really? After all, if all life has spirit, then we are responsible to and for that spirit, are we not? “So become a vegan!” But wait a minute, even vegetables have feelings. I remember reading of some experiments in the ‘70’s that showed carrots, among others, have feelings. What of the tree we cut down for firewood last year?
What distinguishes between our cherished goldfish kept in a bowl on the desk from the trout or halibut that was last Friday’s supper?
Is sentience the proper delineation? Then how do we define sentience? How do we know that trees and other plants are not sentient, especially if we cannot speak their language? It is Native American belief that trees and plants have their own sentience. For that matter, even rocks have their own spirit and sentience.
I grieve for my dog. I miss her, terribly. I did the best I could under my meager circumstances for her. Yet I still wonder if it was enough, if the best I could do was good enough. She was not my surrogate child, she was not human. I did not treat her that way, and I still do not treat her pup that way, although I find myself paying more attention to Randy now that her mother is gone. My dogs have been great companions in an otherwise empty house. Yet, love them as I do, they are dogs. (even as I write this, my heart wells up in my throat)
Will Cricket (or Beau, the pup I put down) forgive my indiscretions? Can they forgive me? Should I forgive myself? What is the right thing in God’s eyes?
Or am I barking up the wrong tree?
