Jenifer’s Shelter Island Journal: Of lions and lambs
In this age of human isolation, it’s no surprise that humans seem to be having the most trouble with intra-specific relationships. We’re much better at forming inter-specific ones.
Animal lovers who might find it increasingly difficult to love humans can take comfort and joy in caring for all manner of other species, and maybe learning from them how love and loyalty and caring are “done.” What follows is a small collection of true love stories, both likely and un, that give this writer, anyway, hope that we might even learn how to love our own species again someday.
My friend, Tiffany, had been grieving, for over a year, the death of her beloved mini-dachshund, Sukoshi. A few weeks ago, something unexpected happened. Tiffany tells it this way: “Gabo Starburst was rescued by a gentleman who noticed one of his neighbors, who raised rabbits to sell to pet stores, had released them into the woods in her area in the wake of The Puppy Mill Pipeline Act (PMPA) being passed in December of 2024. Rabbits are a lot of work and, because of that, many are released shortly after Easter. They’re not equipped for life in the wild, so it’s very cruel. Southampton Animal Shelter Foundation {SASF), where I volunteer in the cat rooms, has taken in 19 of them so far! Krystin Koerner, the Community Outreach Coordinator at SASF, made the introduction between myself and this beautiful, amber-colored rabbit, the exact color of my beloved Sukoshi. We fell in love. Krystin, a bunny owner, takes the placement of the rabbits, and all pets really, very seriously. She came to do a home check, making sure that I was up to the task. Gabo Starburst is calm, smart, loves to be petted and groomed and appreciates being a single fellow. He has adapted to me and my space perfectly, doing his binkys within the first two days, jumping and twisting about in an expression of joyful energy. We are so in-tune. My house is humming.”
The next two stories happened just last week. I was having dinner with my family on the lovely Chequit terrace. We noticed, at a nearby table, an elegant Greyhound quietly lying at the feet of his master. The man rose to take the dog for a walk. The animal was so beautiful and well-mannered we had to ask about him. “Ginko” was a rescue dog that, like many retired racers, are left to fend as best they can once they’re too old or injured to race. Luckily, Ginko had been brought to a Greyhound Rescue & Rehabilitation (GRR) facility which, according to [email protected], “is a registered 501(c)(3) non-profit for adoption/placement, comprised of volunteers, dedicated to raising public awareness about the ex-racing Greyhound … their wonderful disposition and suitability as pets and companions.” A happy ending — and beginning — for both.
Full disclosure, this final story involves a relative, my nephew, Andrew, a strapping young man, two hundred pounds, six-foot-three, with a yarn to tell
“Early morning, the 28th of June. Seemed like any other Saturday morning. I was tending to my farm stand’s vegetable and flower gardens, my father was watering the beds around the house while intermittently tossing the ball for the dog. Suddenly, Dad yelled, “No, drop it, bad dog! No!”
“I’d just had a procedure on my leg, so I could only hobble as quickly as possible over to him as he was hauling the dog into the house. The dog had got hold of a small baby bird and he told me to look under my car to see if it was O.K. It was a duckling. It appeared to be uninjured but was rightly very scared. I couldn’t get him while he remained under my car, so I stopped trying to catch him, sat down on the ground about 10 feet from the car, put my hands together in front of me, open-palmed, and began speaking gently to him.
“After a minute or two, the duckling popped his little head out, bravely took a small step towards me, paused, took another … and another. Then he just went for it, running the rest of the way and jumping right into my hands. Though still cautious, he quickly made himself comfortable, lying down, peeping and chirping.
“There was just one thing left to do: the most difficult task. What do I name the newest member of my family? Clearly, he’s a very tough duck, being trapped inside a big dog’s mouth, and clearly, he’s a very brave duck to run out to me and hop into my hands. Bam! It hit me like a fist to the forehead. This duckling would, from now on, be known as … Duck Norris!”
Catch Duck Norris following his mother, Andrew, everywhere he goes. They’re there all week.
