On Life and Death

Yesterday we celebrated a life and a birthday. Lola was born four years ago - January 31, 2011 - and she came to live with us a short while later, a tiny little Chihuahua that fit in your hand. She amazes us all the time with her intelligence, and makes us laugh because she is so "tough" and yet so "wimpy." She is locked in to everything her "daddy" says, and always ready and eager to "go for a ride," she is a constant joy in our lives. We are blessed to know her.

Yesterday we also celebrated a life while we mourned the loss of Toby, "the bestest dog in the whole world," who graced us with his presence for almost 17 years. Always a constant companion for two young girls, Toby learned many of the very "non-doggish" things they wanted him to do. He could give a "high-five" using either hand; he could "sit" when he wanted to; he would roll onto his back and "exercise" by kicking his back legs when told. He was the caretaker for all of our other dogs over the years, outliving them all. And until his degenerating hips made it impossible for him to climb on the top of the storm cellar, he spent much of his alone time up there, overseeing the farm as its guard and protector.

He had a good and long life, and he was a constant joy in our lives...we were blessed to have known him.

Yesterday, I also celebrated the life of an anonymous little song bird, and mourned it's death.

I tend to anthropomorphize things I observe in nature, despite my understanding of, and agreement with, Darwinian principles. I know that had our Toby been born a wild animal, he would have died long ago. Nature doesn't tolerate the predator with hearing loss and arthritic hips. Nature doesn't have a conscience. The words "life" and "death" are the words that we humans use to describe the states of "being" and "not being" for a wild animal.

I realize that animals are capable of understanding of death, and many even mourn the loss of one of their own. But for the predator, there is no place for mercy...no tolerance for pity.

There was no guilt in the Merlin yesterday when it knocked the song bird from the air. There was no sorrow in the hearts of the songbirds who escaped. And as shocked as I was to see that interaction play out right before my eyes, I know that I shouldn't feel sad for the song bird either. Guilt and sorrow imply that what happened was wrong in some way. It wasn't. It was simply survival of the fittest playing out right before my eyes.

So to the Merlin, master of the swift aerial attack, I salute your speed and agility, your keen eyesight, and incredible ability to react and close in for the kill. And to the little song bird, I celebrate your life, and nature was blessed to have you in it.

It's a funny thing, this living and dying.