The Souls of Ourselves

An excerpt from my book of essays, “But Still They Sing”

I have been reading several books by Jane Goodall, who is a hero of mine. She describes with great clarity the condescension and arrogance of the scientific world as she was beginning her career. But it is the personalities of her animal acquaintances—friendships—that captivate me. Not because I am surprised by the depth and complexity of the animals’ emotions, but because humanity has for so long doubted their existence. 

Until Ms. Goodall’s work, I wonder whether anyone even remotely involved in these scientific inquiries had ever shared a home with a dog or cat, although René Descartes, who famously said that animals were soulless machines unable to feel pain, also dissected his wife’s dog.

My husband is away for a few days, and the house has felt empty without him. But I sleep well out here in the country, buffered somewhat by several glasses of wine, and protected by my two big German Shepherds who sleep on the bed with me. They shift positions during the night.  At one point young Eli crept up next to me and put his face next to mine, and I was comforted by his gentle snores, which sounded like purring. Later, Auggie, perhaps jealous, moved up and put his head on the pillow on the other side, and I was forced to shift my body diagonally to find a place to put my legs. It wasn’t quite comfortable, but I liked it anyway, surrounded by these big, fierce animals who love me.

For most of my life it has been fashionable among scientists to lecture animal lovers about the emotional inadequacy of our fellow creatures. We were told that dogs, for example, don’t really love us, but merely respond out of self-interest to the pack leader who will give them food. Dogs’ behaviors can be misinterpreted by us—and often are by doting but careless owners—but anyone who’s ever spent five minutes with a dog knows that they absolutely do express love. Fortunately, that notion of human superiority is no longer scientifically accepted.

I often wonder what my dogs are thinking and how they perceive the world, but I have no doubt of their feelings. I know their joy, their guilt, their disappointment, and most definitely their love. I can see their emotion on their faces and in their body language, and it is as clear as with any human.

Auggie is particularly communicative, because he is mature and has learned the meanings of my words and how to speak with gestures. His eyes express his sensitive nature, and when he is hurt by too much attention shown to Eli they droop with heartbreaking sadness; they sparkle with mischief and anticipation as he watches my face for permission to run out and play; they are deep and searching as he longs for words to explain to me that the braunschweiger is right there on the kitchen counter, and it would be delicious. These are not my projections. People who barely know him comment on his expressions and interpret them correctly and without context. “He looks sad; He wants something; He’s excited; He loves you.”

Eli, still a two year old giant puppy, has less subtlety, but his feelings are intense. His remorse when he was sick, couldn’t wake me, and made a mistake in the house—which for a German Shepherd is a mortal sin—was heartbreaking. It was impossible to blame him or to be angry.

Now we are seeing studies about animal altruism; about the shifts in their calls to reflect their surroundings; about their grief for their dead; about their terror of the abattoir. In a world shaken by a new awareness of its cruelty to the “other”, we continue to deny and neglect the reality that is before our eyes daily.

Last week I passed a dead squirrel by the side of the road, and in the rear view mirror I saw his living friend sniffing and touching him, in hope he could be roused.

Descartes be damned. Those of us who have animals in our homes and our lives know the truth: They are not children of a lesser God, but of the very same God, and they deserve to share the same status in His beloved creation.

Animals have souls. They are individuals. Their longings, loves, and fears are as palpable and real as ours. When we ignore this reality, we are the perpetrators of sin, putting not just animals, but our selves and our souls in grave peril.

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The down stay requires regular practice. I will pay for practicing in the wet with muddy dog bellies, which, history shows, are best soothed on a clean bedspread.