I'm reading about Jane Goodall and her project in Gombe. When chimps grieve they tend to wander the same spot of their loss. They remember other events, people and places astonishingly well, and much like humans. In fact, her beloved Flame wandered the spot wherein her own mother had died. Flame paced and paced until she was so consumed by grief, she laid down and never got up again. Apparently this feeling of utter destruction is not uncommon. Chimps are such amazing critters, aren't they. We are lucky to have organizations that help protect them against over hunting for Bush Meat as well as habitat protection. It's too bad we can't learn from all past experiences rather than look upon new ones and new chimps for medical experimentation. An animal's last day should not be its best.
Likewise, we have amazing agencies here in the US, which protect the rights of animals who are abused or neglected. I believe animals are even more cerebral than most people give them credit. Fortunately a lot of other people do as well. They think, have fear, know and show love, get sad and even know joy. I think it's incredibly funny that after all these years we still need someone to tell us that they are having an emotion, rather than being able to read it on their faces or see it in their body language. Name a half dozen advocates for animal rights and there are a sleeper cell of millions of us donating 10 dollars here and 1O dollars there, of which we expect no recompense except in our own beings. You can't get a tax break for donating 20 bucks online to fluffy's kidney surgery, and so many people don't expect to be able to do so. We just do it, because we give a damn.
Tyson, though blind, has mental and emotional images of his loved ones. He knows where my truck is often parked. He'll pull (more like drag me) the leash right for the general spot every time. Tyson, too, is an animal propelled by memory. Perhaps it is his blindness which has forced him to be more keen. Or is Tyson a generally smarter canine than most? He knows my voice, and I often feel like he knows the sounds my shoes or steps make, too. When I must leave, Tyson also remembers that I stash a treat on his bed, which he seeks out every time we return from an adventure. He's a smart, smart boy. He can remember the layout of a room, how to escape chair legs and just where the end of the deck is before he needs to step down.
Like she would a child, Jane greatly grieved the first chimp in which she made contact. David Greybeard had died shortly after the pneumonia epidemic swept the forest. I can only imagine what that must be like. You struggle and fight to get somewhere, doing something you have wanted to do since you were a child, and then you actually get to see your dream come true, only to have that first glimpse die too early on. As morbid as it sounds, I can only imagine what losing Tyson will be like for me when his day arrives, too. How do you grasp losing a teacher, losing the most pivotal marker in your life? Tyson is why I again seek to become the veterinarian I always wanted to become. A simple, but beautiful dog gave back to me back the dream I had buried. If Tyson hadn't opened my eyes back up, I'd still be getting by and surviving rather than ardently working for my bliss. I owe him so much, which is why I ardently devote time to him weekly --as possible.
My dearest Tyson, I hope you find a home soon. You deserve a warm fire and to bring joy to a family as much as you've brought me and ours. But until then, I'm so happy to see and visit with you, gleaning spots of wisdom when I can. You are my David Greybeard, if I may be so bold to compare you. May you, however, live to ripe old years and filled with tender people who love you immensely, oh, and really great veterinary care!
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