I have been graced recently with visits by pheasants in the garden. It was one of the females who came first and hops up on to the feeding tray, despite her weight. More recently her partner has arrived and shown less fear lately than before. Today the hen even hopped into the garden and was walking about close to my feet.
I was so pleased to see them that later, as I sat enjoying breakfast tv – an 80s rerun – quite frankly I am bored with the world hanging on Trump’s thoughts as if they are the only crisis facing the world today. From my chair I reached out toward the male pheasant with a great rush of love to hug him about his body. Then realised that birds don’t like to be hugged, and their wings held down. Hence this short reflection on affection in the animal kingdom.
For those who purport to be scientists yet deny the ability of others to show affection I would suggest they look deeply into their own hearts and find if they are the ones suffering from such paucity.
All animals and birds, and indeed insects are capable of showing emotions, My dog cried when I had to have his friend, the cat put down because he was suffering so badly from rat poison a neighbour had distributed. No more Sidecar. Pepi let the tear roll down his cheek.
I stopped outside Fort William and admired some Scottish Highland cattle. One of them came over to see me. I had learned years before that cattle like to breathe a greeting to one another, blowing breath into the nostrils of the other and breathing in the fragrance of the companion, like dogs sniffing each others bums to study the health of the other. Perhaps I had called the Highlander to me, I don’t remember. But I was scratching his head and leaning towards him when he swished his head and struck me a resounding blow across the temple with his horns. Sadly I didn’t have horns to catch the blow and, almost stunned, realised he was saying hallo.
I have watched the courting of birds from my window with pigeons hopping politely up to one another while the other hops enticingly away. Splaying their tails and bobbing their heads the male makes suit to the female. I watched some oystercatchers a few days later and expected to see similar behaviour, to find their ritual behaviour was entirely different. The female ran away quite far, stopped and waited for the male to chase her. When he came up, she ran again. I don’t remember whether I saw the resolution of this encounter, or what it may have been.
We are apes and, like monkeys, have hands with which we manipulate things. Our instinct is to reach out and touch and hold something that fascinates us, or proves too dear to let go. We groom one another, stroking the hair, holding hands, reaching forwards with the face.
But besides hands we have forward facing eyes, like squirrels and other rodents. Horses don’t have this, nor do sheep. Horses nibble at one another’s fur, in their grooming ritual. Sheep butt heads or move pushing alongside one another.
Each of the great families have their own ways of showing affection according to the structure of their bodies. We are foolish to think we are the only creatures that have a range of emotions simply because we don’t know how to identify them.
Affection and gratitude in insects? Sure, I’ll give you a couple of examples. A bee fell into my beer while I was taking a lunch break at a workshop in Sweden. I had nothing to reach into the glass to rescue it with, so I resolved to extend my finger and let the poor creature climb out on that. I had to suppress my fear that the little thing might sting me in her shock. She climbed out, shook herself off and flew away. Only to return minutes later and sit on my shoulder for a few moments to thank me, before flying away again. I think the queen had told her to go back and thank me for her escape. Nature is full of courtesy and good manners.
I have a particular fondness for wasps. I speak of them as my allies. Have done for years. I am always surprised in Spring when the first solitary queens come out looking for homes. I greeted one one year and bade her welcome. I sit at the computer facing a window that is usually slightly open. She flew in one day and buzzed around a bit and then flew away. We exchanged a few silent greetings. Then she came back, perhaps it was the next day. She visited several times before she started to build her nest above the window. ‘Oh dear, no.’ I cried, ‘You can’t build here. I’m sorry. You must find somewhere else.’ I had to keep the window closed for several days after that so she would not try to carry on building. The gum is still hanging above the window.
I saved several of her children that year, and have done since, keeping a jar especially for the purpose, and a card to slide under it, being careful not to catch their feet. I release them from the kitchen door and ask them to bid their queen well, several generations away from the great grandmother I imagine. They often return to say thanks.
Life is so much more pleasant if we stay simple and recognise that others have lives as precious to them as ours is to us. Gratitude is such a more generous and welcoming way of life than open hostilities and uncalled for aggression. It’s time we lost the ‘red in tooth and claw’ impression the West has promoted since the days of Aesop and recognise that most of the time life is a song of harmony and joy passing from one to another.
