Animals and gratitude

Many people were kind enough to sympathize when my dog, Nikki, was lost recently, and to rejoice with me when I got her back. That’s a reflection of the close relationship so many of us have with dogs, a closeness that has grown over the centuries since we chose them to be our companions.

Except that, according to Professor Greger Larson, of Oxford University, involved with the Ancient Dog Project, we probably didn’t choose them. They chose us, some 25,000 to 35,000 years ago, when one branch of the wolf family learned that hanging around the campsites of human hunter-gatherer bands and eating their scraps was easier than hunting for food. The relationship grew, more at the instigation of the dog-ancestors than of our human ancestors, who would have had no experience or cultural conditioning that would have led them to think of capturing and training a wolf. So these shaggy opportunists gradually increased their closeness with humans, gratefully providing loyalty and eventually a degree of protection in return for basic livelihood. There are indications that their descendants gradually developed a sense of thankfulness when humans were especially helpful to them.

A lot of people have reported experiencing lasting and touching demonstrations of gratitude from dogs they’ve rescued from confinement or death, the animals presumably sensing that a dire future had been blocked by this human benefactor who now lavished them with comfort and security. I believe these reports, because many different types of animals, not just dogs, seem to exhibit the ability to love us and, within limits, to use reason in trying to understand their lives.

I have experienced the display of affection and gratitude not just by dogs, but also by the creature famous for its arrogance and presumed self-sufficiency, the house cat. For many years, my wife and I owned Burmese cats, a breed famous for its affinity for humans. An adult female Burmese I had just acquired had to have major surgery immediately. The vet called afterward to tell me he was afraid she was not going to recover. He asked me to come to his clinic as often as I could and hold her on a heating pad on my lap. He was convinced that sick cats responded positively to this care. For several days, I went before work, during lunch, after work, and any other time I could spare. The cat was so weak she could hardly lift her head, but she purred faintly when I stroked and talked to her. Over a long period, she recovered.

Once back home, it was clear that I had become this cat’s person. She loved human laps in general, but my lap always took priority. If I entered a room and sat down, she immediately deserted the person who was holding her and came over to spring into my lap. If I put her back on the floor, she jumped up again. If I continued to deny her the place she sought, she went around behind me, sprang to the back of my chair, and then ever so slowly crept down over my shoulder and into my lap, obviously hoping I wouldn’t notice. For the rest of her life, if I was available, she was determined to be with me. I can’t swear that she had developed this devotion as payback for my care of her when she was near death, but I very much believe that was the case.

I don’t doubt Nikki’s affection in general. She exuberantly expresses it whether I’m receptive or not. But then she always has, even displaying the same tendency as my long-ago Burmese, the wish to sit on my lap. I have never allowed this, as I think she weighs approximately a ton and is roughly the size of a horse. Her affection is a part of her nature, and it seems in no way related to my having gotten her back from her trek into the unknown. I detect no particular expression of gratitude. I could be wrong, though. She does occasionally offer to shake hands.

This story was originally published March 31, 2017 at 5:58 PM with the headline "Animals and gratitude."