I have been an animal lover since… forever. When I was little, I pined for a pet, but the best I got was a tankful of pretty fish that to my dismay usually lasted all of 48 hours. Once, when I was in kindergarten, I got to take home some baby chicks for some project or another. They all died in a few short days, stricken with some mysterious chicken disease. I was devastated. When I was a little older, I took to capturing salamanders and putting them in the same tank that once housed my fish. They usually escaped.
For whatever reason, my parents never got us an *actual* pet. Most of my friends had either a cat or dog, or both. Some had birds, rabbits, or lizards. Reptiles seemed lazy, rabbits seemed stupid, and I hated the idea of keeping birds in a cage. Nothing could possibly be more contrary to nature. I wanted a cat or a dog desperately. I couldn’t tell if my parents just never liked the idea of a pet because they had never had one themselves and didn’t understand the joy that animals invariably bring, or they didn’t want to spend the money and time taking care of something that would not get a college degree and go on to make lots of money to support them in their retirement. Somehow though, I knew there was a hole in their hearts that could only be filled with the sweet barks or meows of a loving critter. My suspicions grew more and more concrete when one Christmas I asked for a horrible little toy: a fake dog that came with so much “fur” and a set of salon tools with which to cut and groom it. My parents both expressed disgust at such a thing and told me with certainty I wouldn’t be getting it and I should ask for something else. To my delight, I received it on Christmas anyway; a gift from Santa. I inwardly cackled at my expertise at wrapping that fat old man around my finger once more, and receiving what my parents vowed they would never give me. Of course, when I stopped believing in Santa, I realized they had been the ones buying those toys all along, and that one in particular which they thought so distasteful. Something told me that deep down, they really wanted a pet.
Things progressed. We got a hamster named Esquire. He lived in a two-tiered golden cage like a king and had the best of the best. Because my father hated keeping anything locked up, the two of us would sit in my room for an hour every night while the hamster ran around all over the place, as free as could be. Sometimes he would sneak away, only to be found hours later sleeping in someone’s fuzzy slipper, or munching on nuts and grapes beneath a table. He had an adorable face, but a rather tedious disposition despite the various personalities and alter-egos my brother and I invented for him. I drew pictures of him everywhere, and talked about him constantly with my friends at school. He was a relatively boring animal in retrospect, but my brother and I loved nothing more. Once we had a visitor stay with us; a family friend’s sister. She asked us if we had a pet, and we both answered excitedly that we had a hamster. She guffawed and shouted, “No, a REAL pet!” My brother and I sat in silent shock. What was more real than our precious rodent? When he died, we had a “family meeting.” Our mother told us gently he had passed away in his sleep, and my brother and I burst out into violent tears. We could not even be consoled with offerings of Friendly’s Jim Dandy five scoop ice cream sundaes that we were usually never allowed to have.
I became more and more of an animal adorer. I’m not ashamed to say that I am often more affected by cruelty to animals than cruelty to other people. It sounds harsh and misguided, but that’s just where my feelings lie and I can’t change them. In trying to explain why I love animals so much and why I am so much more hurt and angered by the mistreatment, neglect, or abuse of animals than of people, my response is always because animals cannot understand their feelings the way humans can. Animals know feelings: loneliness, pain, abandonment, sadness… but unlike humans, cannot discern why they are hurting. If forsaken, animals do not know why, they only know they have been left behind. If abused, they cannot understand that some humans are sadistic and evil, and that a better life is waiting for them elsewhere, only that their life is painful. Unlike humans, animals have no ability to be malicious or vindictive. They have no sense of doing someone or something intentional harm. They act on instinct and loyalty. It makes me sad in a way I am never otherwise sad when I hear about stories of animal cruelty and abuse. It is difficult for me to imagine humans having the capacity to harm animals just out of sadistic pleasure, apathy, ignorance, or just a lack of kindness, but this is so often the case. Maybe this is why I have so much more compassion for animals than I do for most people.
I have talked before about the neglect and abuse of animals in FSM, so I won’t do that here. This post isn’t about my feelings regarding animal treatment in this country (which are not positive one), it is instead about the wonderful experiences I have had with animals here, despite the obstacles they must overcome. It shows the true resilience of all creatures, and not just human ones.
During my first month last year at Xavier, my mother informed me via email that my cat was ill. My cat had always been sickly, needing various medications for various problems. He had always been, though, the love of both my life and my brother’s. He made a cat-lover out of my father, whom never thought such a thing possible. We got him when I was about 11 or 12 years old, and despite our parents’ fear that we would grow tired of him, our love for him only grew exponentially. He was not always the most affectionate animal; very selective about when and where and with whom he wanted to cuddle, but I knew that he understood more than we usually gave him credit for. When I was sick, I could always look forward to him sitting by my side tirelessly, something he would never do otherwise, even consenting to be held and petted for extended periods of time. As difficult as this is for me to admit, he probably loved my brother most of all, taking to sleeping in his bed every morning before my brother woke up. Hearing that he was seriously ill was devastating for me, and I wanted nothing more than to be back with him, comforting him the way he always comforted me when I was sick. A few days later, my mom called me to tell me he was dying. I pleaded with her to wait to do anything until I came home in the summer, but she said that it was urgent. He was in pain, and the vet would need to put him down right away. The hurt and shock I felt was immeasurable. I cried endlessly, hating myself for being across the world while my beloved pet was dying, maybe wondering where I had gone. My brother told me later it was the first time in years he had cried. In retrospect, I am glad I was not home. I think it would have been so much more awful for me spending that last night with him, knowing what was coming while he remained so ignorant. I don’t think I could have gone to the vet with him and seen him go to sleep for the last time. I am so thankful that my father had the strength to do that so Twilight was not completely alone.
I have spoken countless times about my cat Oreo that came to me (not the other way around for once!) while I was at Xavier, and whom I raised from kittenhood, so I don’t need to elaborate on her here. Like all my pets, I love her and miss her with all my heart, and am always hoping for her safety and happiness.
The day I returned back to Pohnpei from Chuuk, I discovered a delightful surprise: we had a puppy! One of the Pohnpeians built him a cage in which he was resting fretfully. My uncle warned me that he was a mean, savage little thing and hated everyone. I walked up to the cage and hesitantly put my fingers out to touch him. He growled at me viciously. Because I had just recently been bitten by a dog, I did not want to tempt fate, and left him to stew in his emotions. He had just arrived that day, and my uncle was positive he was just scared of being in a new place, trapped in a cage, away from his mother. That night, I tried again. He let me lightly touch his head, but remained angry and sad. The next day, he was better still. I pet him and offered him a piece of sausage… but eventually, he growled again and this time, barked and snapped at me, trying to bite. I left him again, and again I came back later. He was in much better spirits, and was trusting me a little more. We let him out of his cage, and he explored his new domain reluctantly. By the third day, he was my new best friend. He leapt up excitedly when he saw me, and let me hold him. He put my hands in his mouth without biting. He stayed close by my side while we walked around the yard so he could sniff things. When he was scared he hid under my skirt or between my legs. By the fourth day, we created a new routine. When I came home from work, I sat outside under the roof, and let him playfully come up to me and gnaw on my hands. He sat in my lap and fell asleep while I sang quietly. After that, I taught him to come to me when I whistled, to fetch (sometimes), and to play rough, but not too rough. He became my protector, barking at people when they walked by if I happened to be outside with him, and chasing away the cats when they clawed at me for food. Last night during the feast we had for the bishop, he barked and ran around anxiously until he saw me and leapt straight into my lap, licking my mouth, never more content seeing a familiar face. While everyone was dissembling tables and hauling away chairs, he came in my room with me, sleeping on an old pillow and snuggling with one of my flip flops. It never ceases to sadden me watching his face when I have to drive away somewhere. I call him Muffin despite my uncle’s insistence that this should not be the name of a future guard dog. He’s just a baby though, and will be my baby until I leave.
I didn’t think I would really be upset to leave. I feel it’s time for me to go home, and I’m ready to go back to my friends and family. Muffin has put a whole new perspective on this, however. We just met, but have already formed such a close bond. It’s widely accepted here that he loves me more than anyone else in the house; he will follow me anywhere and is (relatively) obedient and good-natured. He has never peed indoors, and is already often barking at strangers who come on our property. He is complacent and loving and has so much emotion in his face it’s hard to bear sometimes. I cannot stand thinking about driving away that final time – seeing the dismay in his eyes that I’m leaving again, but the faith that I will return, as I always do. It’s incredibly difficult to imagine how abandoned he will feel once I’m gone. Not that anyone here mistreats or neglects him: people will still pet and play with him, will still feed him and change his water. But the bulk of the attention has undoubtedly come from me; and the bulk of the pampering and comforting when he has been hurt or afraid. I don’t want to think about his sadness; I don’t want to think about leaving him. The inability to explain the circumstance to him is what kills me the most: if only he could understand.
I am also afraid for his safety. It’s a somewhat popular trend for children to steal puppies if they think they are cute, and an even more popular trend for Pohnpeians to steal adult dogs to eat. Everyone else here is largely apathetic on these points, or even joke about it, but for me, it isn’t a joke. It rips me up inside to know this is the potential fate I leave him to. I have never cried so bitterly as I do when I am alone and thinking these terrifying thoughts. Even though it also hurts me to think this, some part of me hopes he will forget me completely so that if something does happen, he will not be wondering where I have gone and why I have left him. Of course, none of these things are certainties. I know that despite all the jokes he makes, my uncle loves him too and will watch over him. You can’t not love this dog, and it’s so hard to leave him. I can’t be there to make sure he is ok; the best I can do is ask after him, and hope that he remains happy and safe, guarding the house that once was mine.
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