Zoolingualism

I have commented in previous essays of communications with animals — speaking “tongue-in-cheek” of the time I "asked" a cat in 1966 “What's your name?” and learning that it's name was “Dolly.”

Well, Hello, Dolly! ( A delightful song by Louis Armstrong )

I would like to assume that my readers will not think that I actually had such an actual exchange — it was simply a literary device that related my decision to name the cat.

Similarly, in 2016 I asked the resident goose here at the Landing Apartments, to learn that her name is Samantha.

A neighbor recently informed me that the goose is a male, named Jack. I responded by informing him that I had asked the goose, and learned that HER name is Saman --- well, you get the idea. All in fun.

But in a more serious vein I have sometimes wondered if sometimes, some animals might be silently communicating . . . ?

Here, now, in May of 2023, I find it pleasant to sit in a chair on my “front porch” while enjoying my morning cuppa, and gaze at the world as it exists outside of my apartment.

I watch the birds, gaze upon the lake, enjoy the gentle breeze, and meditate . . .

I find it pleasant — relaxing — “positively ... therapeutic,” if I may quote Louis.

Somewhat akin to the sessions I experienced sitting in the porch swing at my “White Rock Ranch.”

Recently, relaxing on my porch I observed some nutria, grazing in the grass along the sidewalk beside the lake.

Several crawled along the sidewalk — except for one, that remained, hunkered down, motionless . . .

Is that really a nutria? Perhaps … maybe … it might be a turtle . . . ??

It extended its head. Stretching to to gaze about, revealing that it WAS in fact a turtle. Slowly it extended its legs and began crawling, up onto the grass of the lawn, and in my direction. Stopping occasionally to stretch its head high, to look ahead to choose its path, it moved about half way across the lawn toward me.

It paused, turning to the left, stretching its head to the utmost, seeming to study me …

There is no articulable justification to support the idea that it was even conscious of my existence . . . but that thought crept slowly into my consciousness.

And then I remembered . . .

About five years ago as I gazed from my kitchen window I saw a turtle crawling slowly across the road. Cars slowed, swerved, just barely missing the lumbering animal.

Impulsively I put down my cup and rushed out to rescue the turtle — arrogantly stopping traffic while I retrieved it from the middle of the road.

I carried it to the edge of the lake and placed it gently, in safety, where it could enter the water.

I was glad that none of my friends observed my action — I would find it difficult to justify. Just a quirk of my character, a respect I feel for life in any form . . .

I thought no more about it — until, here, 5 years later a turtle was crawling toward me, and gazing intently, seemed to recognize me, and remember . . .

Having moved close enough to see me clearly, satisfied that it had identified me, it mentally conveyed its gratitude, turned and moved back toward the lake.

I am glad that no one could follow my thoughts — it would be impossible to justify the thought that a turtle could . . .

That I would even think that such . . .

Ridiculous!

I'll not mention this to anyone. Ever.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The operating system time stamp on the article written above was at 2:34 PM. What follows below occurred about 3:35 PM.

In the kitchen, making a glass of tea, and I felt a compulsion to gaze out the window — toward the area below the dam. There I observed something that I could not immediately identify. Binoculars made it seem much closer, and I recognized the turtle.

Stuck below the dam, unable to climb the vertical walls to return to the lake. He wandered fitfully back and forth, futilely wishing for a miracle.

Well . . .

I pulled on my rubber boots, some vinyl gloves and descended to the drainage below the dam. As I approached the turtle, he withdrew into his shell — and I heard him say “You, again!”

I carried him across the dam and eased him into the lake. Wordlessly he slipped beneath the surface and disappeared.

Bubbles contained the thought: “Thanks!”

I'll never tell anyone!!!!