I worry about the animals at times like this, and it brings me to the subject of how differently people see them. Even if you restrict it to pet animals, people’s attitudes vary widely.
To some, animals are basically lifestyle accessories. They’re the sort to whom pedigree is everything. I’ve noticed since I moved here to Derbyshire that professional people moving into their extended and renovated cottages usually furnish themselves with a brace of black Labradors or Springer Spaniels. They’re the ‘in’ breeds at the moment. Others care nothing for animals at all, and never have pets. A man I once knew told me of an acquaintance whose dog had died. He couldn’t understand why this person was upset. ‘It’s only a dog, for God’s sake,’ he said. I don’t blame him for that. If you don’t feel it, you don’t feel it. I, and others like me, just love animals. We see them as fellow sentient beings sharing this thing called life. They feel pain and emotion, and it seems that some of them are even capable of higher feelings like compassion.
I feed the birds in my garden, and they’ve become something like friends to me. I suppose they’ve become surrogate pets. That’s why I worry about them spending the long, cold nights outside. I have to stop myself getting constantly wound up about it, because there’s nothing I can do except feed them during the daylight hours and hope they make it through the night. I get a thrill every time I open my door in the morning and the little robin is there wanting his breakfast of rolled oats.
I make no apology for being soft about animals. I’ve always been that way, and I see it as nothing more than connecting with life and revering the spirit that drives it. It’s one thing about me that I can’t see ever changing.
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