We’re in the pet shop, and our girls are choosing their hamsters. It’s a big moment. At 5 and 7, they’ve waited more than half their lives to choose their furry pets. For the first time all day, they’re moving slowly, eyeing each hamster carefully—wanting to make sure the right choice is made.
Hurry up, we think in our minds. We’ve been here a while now. But outwardly we encourage them to take their time. This is a tough choice. The hamster can’t be returned.
Careful deliberation is over as they each point out their new friend. The hamsters are placed in paper carry boxes and off we go with our new household friends.
We take the bus home, and as I hold the box, a scratching noise emerges. Passengers look over, saying with their expressions, Is everything all right here? I smile wanly and they turn back in their seats.
As the scratching gets louder, I can’t help but peer into the box. Oh no! The hamster is starting to eat its way through the cardboard. I show my husband Julian. “This bus better move quick,” he whispers.
Finally, our stop appears. We exit as fast as we can. “Hurry up, girls!” We run across the street with every effort to beat the looming escape.
Months later, and Mr. Fluffy Pants and Hamsty are part of the household. They love running on their hamster wheels and scooting through the plastic tunnels where they live.
Until one day, Mr. Fluffy Pants, who with a healthy appetite had, unbeknownst to us, apparently grew somewhat under all that fur, and began his morning run through the tunnel. But as he ran through, he suddenly stopped, mid-run, his body retained by the tube. Mr. Fluffy Pants was stuck.
“Daddy!” Izzy cried out. “Daddy! Come here, quick!”
That feeling of terror that something’s wrong had us up the stairs in seconds.
“What is it? What is it, Izzy?”
“It’s Mr. Fluffy Pants,” Izzy exclaimed, pointing to the cage. “He’s stuck in the tube. He can’t move.”
In a moment, Julian pulled the top off the cage, pulled out the tunnel, and with his bare hands, squashed the empty part of the plastic tube until it broke.
Back side sticking out where the tube had once been, Mr. Fluffy Pants expanded back to size while our lungs simultaneously exhaled. Julian gently put him back in his cage, removing the tubes.
“Daddy, how did you do that?” Izzy exclaimed, hugging her dear papa.
“Oh my gosh,” I said. “You just instinctually did that.”
“You saved Mr. Fluffy Pants,” Izzy said. “You’re my hero!”
Fast forward five years from then, and our pet world expanded again when we came home with our 60-pound puppy, Luna.
Luna is a Newfoundland, the kind of dog that Nana is in Peter Pan. Nana wears a nurse's hat and is likened to an English nanny charged with watching Wendy, John, and Michael.
Luna, like Nana, loves children. Now almost 100 pounds, she has a huge mouth, big teeth, and lots of drool. But the moment children spend time with her, they connect with her gentle, loving nature. They want to stay by her side.
Our pets mean many things to us. A cozy friend, a family member, a listening ear when we’re sad or lonely. They make us exercise, even when we don’t want to go for a walk.
Pets have a calming effect. When Olliver was little and used to jump all around Luna, she would very calmly outstretch her front legs and lie down on his tummy. Olliver would immediately go still until he started laughing and telling Luna how silly she was.
Pets can even make their parents heroes when we jump in to protect them.
Even though we debated having a dog for a long time, I think all of us would say that we couldn’t imagine our family without Luna.
Part of the magic in having a pet is moving beyond our thoughts to think outside ourselves in efforts to care for another living being. Izzy was a responder that day, reaching out to her dad instantly when Mr. Fluffy Pants was in trouble. And Julian rose to the challenge of crisis intervention specialist, using those protective instincts.
Whether we have a pet or not, volunteering, caring for a loved one, visiting a neighbor, or actively listening are acts of empathy that encourage us to connect with a larger picture of other people’s experiences. Perhaps this can help us shift away from an internal dialogue about what we’re going through, even if at least momentarily. We can step back and recognize someone’s life experience. This fits with research that shows volunteering promotes well-being and positive mental health outcomes for adults and adolescents (Ballard, et al., 2021).
With this post, I’m inviting us to take a step forward (pets backward) toward empathy.
Our vet once told us that a challenge of knowing whether or not a pet has a health problem is the fact that they can’t talk to us. The vet has the unique job of trying to figure out what’s going on without a conversation. This ability to communicate in a different way, without verbalization, but through observation, eye contact, and reassurance, are ways that empathy can help us understand our pet’s perspective.
This is not unlike what we do to try to understand the people around us whose everyday experiences we might initially know about or understand. Like our wonderful vets, we can be committed and curious in efforts to understand what our loved one is experiencing.
It’s easy and expected to think about cooking for our human family members, but less so for the dogs in our lives. Until writing this post, I never even thought about the possibility of making doggy treats at home.
What I can say is that they’re economical and easy to prepare. More importantly, Luna would say, “Woof! Woof!”—dog speak for “Delicious!”
INGREDIENTS
2 cups whole wheat flour
¾ cup rolled oats
⅓ cup vegetable oil
½ cup water (more if necessary)
4 tablespoons natural peanut butter
1 ripe banana (peeled and mashed)
1 medium carrot (top and tailed, washed and grated)
DIRECTIONS
Preheat the oven to 400°F and lightly grease two cookie sheets.
In a large bowl, mix the flour, oats, and shredded carrots. Then make a well in the center of the dry ingredients and add the vegetable oil, water, peanut butter, eggs, and mashed bananas.
Mix all the ingredients together until you have achieved a nice dough. If it's too dry or crumbly add a little more water.
On a lightly floured surface, roll out the dough to an even quarter inch in thickness.
Cut out doggie bone shapes using a special cookie cutter or make your own creative shapes freehand. Place the treats on the cookie sheet and bake for 20 minutes. Then turn the oven off but leave the biscuits inside for another 20 minutes to dry completely.
Remove from the oven and allow the cookies to be absolutely cooled before rewarding your puppy with a delicious treat.
References
Ballard, P. J., Daniel, S. S., Anderson, G., Nicolotti, L., Caballero Quinones, E., Lee, M., & us, A. N. (2021). Incorporating volunteering into treatment for depression among adolescents: Developmental and clinical considerations. Frontiers in Psychology, 12, Article 642910. https://doi.org/10.3389/fpsyg.2021.642910
Clauss-Ehlers, J.C.E., & Clauss-Ehlers, C.S. (2022). Eating Together Being Together: Recipes, Activities, and Advice From a Chef Dad and Psychologist Mom. Princeton Architectural Press.
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