TALK WITH THE ANIMALS

Luna Listens to the World

     My wordless walks with Luna in the woods fulfilled a fantasy I’d had since I was a little girl:  that of talking with the animals.  

      In second grade, my teacher was a nun named Sister John Bernard, one of the few nuns whose names we didn’t change.  The mean ones were given more appropriate appellations, such as Sister Concordia who became King Kong Cordia, or sister Mary Edgar, who became Sister Mary Eggbeater.  Sister John Bernard retained her name because she one of the kindest people I ever met.  She never raised her voice, ruling her class with love rather than fear, and she was adept at paying attention to the individual needs of every child, nurturing their skills rather than pushing them against their weakness. Through her eyes, our accomplishments were made bigger, while our faults were diminished.  

      In her class, I was inspired to write a Christmas play, and it was about the magic hour of midnight on the first Christmas Eve, when Lithuanian legend said even animals could speak in human tongue for just one hour.  Mary and Joseph arrived to a manger full of silent but wise and knowing animals, never realizing they had their own consciousness, which they could voice. 

     The smartest thing about the play, besides the dialogue which was pretty cool for a second grader, was that animals know things.  They’re conscious, and if only they could talk to us, they’d have a lot to say.   What I didn’t know at the time was that it’s humans who have the problem.  We impose human expectations on other animals, when the truth is we have to learn their language, rather than asking them to speak ours.  

     My interest in connection with animals was fostered in many ways.  The movie Ring of Bright Water, about a friendship between a family and otters, captivated me, and I longed for otters to play with.   And the movie, The Three Lives of Thomasina was even better, because it spoke to so many parts of my life, including my understanding that science and art have to work together to accomplish anything.  

    The movie features a little girl, Mary, whose mother is dead and whose father is a bitter, skeptical veterinarian. But through the death of Mary’s cat they both meet Mad Lori, a witchy kind of woman who seems able to talk with the animals.  Ultimately, both she and the veterinarian learn that their combined skills work much better than either alone.

     Now, really.  Does it get any better?   And the story includes Thomasina the cat deciding to forgo her revenge, which is not easy for a cat to do, but I won’t go into detail about that here, because cat vengeance is a different blog.      

       I wanted to be both Mad Lori and the veterinarian, learning how to talk with the animals in a soul sense, and understand them in a scientific way.  As a daughter of both science and art, this theme permeates my life, and it began in my mother’s kitchen, at the sink, because my father, a deer hunter, would always bring the deer heart to me.  

       He did this because he knew I was interested in anatomy, and so at the age of seven or eight I’d stand on a chair at the sink, the deer heart in a basin in front of me, and explore its various parts.  On the counter next to me would be the Encyclopedia Britannica which, for my younger audience, was an antique form of the internet.  I’d learn all the parts - aorta, ventricles, and so on, and name them in the actual heart.  I memorized them, touched the heart and named them, because, as I’ve said before, naming is big magic.

     And then, at a certain point, I stopped.  I closed the encyclopedia, stopped looking at the deer heart.  I did so because I suspected there was something I had to learn that no book could teach me.  That simply seeing the parts wouldn’t give me a complete understanding of the whole, and even as a child, I knew that mattered.

     Then, Luna came along, and I began to meld the two. 

      I’d already begun that with my cats, following them on their nightly walks, sitting with them under the moonlight and listening, simply listening, to the world, I began to get a sense of how their perception differed from mine.  But my only experience with cat research at that time was from a science teacher who used to experiment on them.  He’d cut their ears off and drop them out of high windows to see if they still landed on their feet.

     Brrrrr.  I wanted no part of that.  To me, it seemed like an extension of all the past wrongs we’ve done to cats, this time under the umbrella of science instead of Christianity.   

Luna Also Listens to Her Food

     But science has a lot to say about dogs, and I read all of it.  Then, as I walked with Luna in the woods, I experienced firsthand how in tune she was to me, how she watched me for direction, for connection. I was aware, in a very visceral way, of how her whole body listened, sniffed, and watched for environmental cues from me and from her world.   I was aware that my whole body, my entire energy, spoke to her more clearly than any words I could ever use, because dogs watch us.   

    They not only watch us, they also make us more visible to ourselves, because they often interpret and act on what we mean instead of what we say.  Then we have to become conscious of our own inner workings to straighten it out. You might say they’re the original psychologists, teaching us about our unconscious motives and drives.  Other times, they watch for the simpler things - food, affection, walks.   

    As Luna did this for me, I developed a deep sense of gratitude to her, and wanted to repay her in kind.  If she could understand me, it was only fair that I should learn to understand her.  And this, in many ways, completed my understanding of communication both within and between species.

     What matters isn’t so much the ability to talk, but a willingness to listen.

      Let me just return for a minute to how I opened this new blog.  I said that yes, really, I still believe love is the answer, even when I’m not sure what the questions are.  I meant that, and here’s more:  Love is, by definition, ready to extend its interests beyond the self.  In fact, I’d taken on dog ownership because I love my husband, because I went beyond my own limitations to listen to his needs.

     Love listens. That’s what it does.  It listens, watches, pays attention, then acts on what it’s learned.  

      That, I think, is why we see dogs as loving.  Because they do that. 

      And as a human animal, I knew I had to be willing to do the same.    

      If you want to know more about how I listen to love, you might like my novel, These Dreams, which looks at all that.   And a recipe to try in the meantime is below, all about listening to your food.   

           

Ricotta Fritters

   Really, any time you fry food, you have to listen and sniff as well as watch.  The oil will sing at  different pitches, and your nose is as good as your eye as you tend the proceedings.   So listen to this as you cook, get a sense of what pitch means what, what sniff means what.  It will help you understand your dog better.  

Ingredients

Oil for frying

Shhh.  Listen. 

¾ cup unbleached all-purpose flour
2 tsp. baking powder
¼ tsp. salt
2 large eggs

1 cup whole milk ricotta cheese, drained in cheesecloth over a bowl overnight if wet

2 Tbsp. sugar
1 tsp. vanilla
1 -2 tbsp confectioners sugar and 1 tbsp cocoa for dusting

OPTIONAL, but I ALWAYS use it:  About a cup of tiny semi-sweet chocolate chips, added to the mix for an even more chocolately experience because you know the rule:  PLAY WITH YOUR FOOD!

Method

Prepare paper towels and/or brown paper for draining your hot fritters and set aside.  Start preheating vegetable or canola oil in a large (14”) skillet.  By all means use a thermometer to test for the right heat, around 370 degrees, but also listen to the oil.  Get to know when it’s working, when it’s done working, when it’s furious. 

   As the oil preheats, stir together flour, baking powder, salt, in a mixing bowl and set aside, still listening.  Always listening because cooking is also about love.

 Break two eggs into another mixing bowl and beat them lightly, as if you’re having a good day and just want to dance.  Add the ricotta, sugar, and vanilla and combine until mixture is smooth and all in sync with each other.  Add the dry ingredients to this and fold in gently, gently, still listening to the oil, and very aware of the texture of what you’re mixing, careful not to mix too much.  Just all together is good.  

When the oil sings right and your thermometer concurs, use a small ice scream scoop or figure about 1 1/2 tablespoons and drop this into the skillet. Watch it cook until golden, listen carefully to the change in the oil’s song, and sniff to make sure you’re not burning anything as you go. Cook around six at a time, and DON’T CROWD THE PAN!  Each will take about 4 minutes to cook. 

Remove the finished fritters from the oil and sing back at them if you like.  Any song will do.  Transfer them to the paper to drain. When they’re still warm and cosy, sprinkle liberally with powdered sugar and cocoa.
 
Makes 16-24 fritters