There’s that whole “does my pet look like me or do I look like my pet?” cliché. Though pretty uncanny in some instances, that’s not what I mean when I say “our pets are us”. If I asked you “Why do you have a pet?” I’d get varying answers (none of which would be “because s/he looks like me!”). Some of us want to nurture, some of us want an excuse to do something like hiking or just plain going outside, others want someone to talk to, a few of us want to feel like a hero, and on and on and on. What we choose to have as a pet says a lot about us, too. Dog? Cat? Bird? Snake? Regardles of species, our pets have the exact same needs we do, whether we know it at the time of adoption or not. That, my friends, is what I mean by “our pets are us”.

You see, a pet’s survival is fairly uncomplicated. It needs to eat, excrete, and have something to do. So do we, right? Get a little deeper and we animals like a comfortable place to sleep, companionship, and to have some fun once in awhile. Beyond that we get into the “nice to have” kind of things like chairs and elevators, which animals use but wouldn’t necessarily want. I won’t go further because we’re all pretty good at calling to mind and naming off the “nice to have” human stuff. We know where to get it and how much it costs. But that simple stuff–The needs that involve our own minds and our own hearts… It gets forgotten. Our pets bring us back to–remind us of–what we essentially need.

…A little adventure without smart phones, city buses, squeezing through crowds, and explaining yourself to others. Smell fresh air, watch the birds, listen to the ocean, feel the sand and water as it dirties your feet, and cower at the mercy of the wind. Dig. Laugh. Run. Jump. To disconnect from all worry and care only about yourself. And your dog. Your human.

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