For The Love of Humphrey

I have always been more of an animal person.  People seem too opinionated, always at the ready to share unsolicited points of view.  Don’t get me wrong,

I have lived with people, have given birth to people, worked and volunteered with people, traveled with people and the list goes on.

Somewhere in my journey, I opted out; probably more for self-preservation than for any other logical reason.  Although during the transition from gainfully employed by somebody else to gainfully employed by me, I needed the select group of people who shared their homes with animals.  Some coined the phrase “pet parents”.  I didn’t really like that (for if you know anything about animals, the parenting of one is not, in any sense of the imagination, possible).

I became a pet sitter. Started small and ended that career after a decade of living in my car between the hours of oh my God thirty and the bewitching hour. Daily, (holidays included), I would pack for the day and maintain a driving route which repeated in 3 hour intervals.  Mostly dogs and cats; birds and rabbits were an added irritation, but not my call.  I had only three exceptions:  no snakes, no puppies and nothing that crawled both vertically and horizontally. 

I am still a pet sitter, but the club is now so exclusive, that I no longer live in my car and can say no just because.

In my home, I live with animals.  It would be absolutely naked without them (the house, that is). We get along without expectations and the few rules are flexible.

As the new ones join us and the old ones leave us, the commotion is my refuge.

Sometimes a guessing game ensues if I have been away too long.  The culprit is not always easy to spot…

Occasionally, my life is lived outside the parameters of my cozy abode.  When opportunities present themselves, I travel. When I travel, I find an excuse to be with animals.  I will book an excursion to commune with a wolf.  I will plan a short vacation around a zoo or aquarium. Other options are animal shelters and those are the most difficult for me to visit for obvious reasons.

I am just back from a visit to San Antonio.  It was a reunion with the city of my early married years.  I can’t remember exactly when I left, but gaging that my youngest is now 22 years old, it must be at least two decades absence.

I traveled with my husband, Jeff, who informed me that I had been places and had done things I couldn’t recollect.  We were pretty evenly matched, because I countered with the same logic.  That repartee allowed for long lunches and a little too much drinking.

I didn’t remember the zoo. I remembered going to the zoo, but the layout was unfamiliar and the species were somewhat not the collection of my original visit.

Those details were inconsequential because I was expecting a thorough education and heaps of joy.  The morning was cool and the parking lot was unoccupied when we arrived.  A shady spot beckoned and we accepted the invitation so that the rental car would be bearable inside at the hour designated for us to leave and lunch.

Prices had gone up…that I remember. Thankfully, the gray hair prompted a smile and a discount. Map in hand, my husband headed that-a-way and I tugged and suggested that we head another direction. 

After about an hour of nose to glass exhibit gazing, we rounded an enclosure of tropical birds, Koi and native ducks.  The keeper was busy adding sand and a layer of hay to the few covered nesting lairs. Cushy life, I thought. As we approached the pathway to another enclosure, I read the sign “Giant Anteater” and I stopped.  I was immovable. I was over joyed and the tears started.  The keeper said that “they” would be out shortly.  I waited. My husband waited. We found a bench and waited. I asked again and was told the same thing. I walked around the exhibit for the umpteenth time and the keeper kept his focus on his task at hand, but his peripheral vision kept me on the horizon and he said “the trainer just passed us, they will be right here”.

I wondered where they were now. I followed the trainer. She shut me out. I couldn’t see anything.  She took too long. While I stood vigil, Jeff moved just to the other side of the enclosure and shouted “Here he is”.  I couldn’t get to the viewing spot fast enough and I needed to ask questions of the employee.  Thankfully she didn’t step back out for a minute so I had a quick peek and my heart skipped a beat and I exhaled. 

His name was “Humphrey”, he was two and part of a breeding pair.  Her name was “Sprout” and she didn’t like him and was generally a trouble maker.  Humphrey was allowed out during the day and she was allowed out at night.  I learned that they were good swimmers and that their diet was not restricted to ants. His bowl was filled with freeze dried insect pellets, avocado and orange slices.  He was magnificent! I introduced Jeff and myself; don’t know that he realized the magnitude of the moment, but he lifted his head to investigate and then went about forging a path between the ducks and the fence line to the enclosure.

I followed him from my side. He was so close; we were in harmony.

Let me interject and inform you that Humphrey was not my first Giant Anteater. I have seen others in my travels.  Yes, I have seen maybe half dozen of the specie, but I didn’t fall in love until now.

So deep was the bond, that I (and Jeff by default) became sponsors.  I think the contract referred to “adoption”, but the wording doesn’t matter.

Our visit had a hidden agenda, I didn’t realize it then. I came as a spectator, ill prepared for the fork in the road which led me to unexpected resolve. The uniqueness of him allowed me to make sense of the world.  I don’t know a better ambassador of the splendor of nature.  He is my guide to all things peaceful and possible and joy filled.  It is predestined to journey together and I will share the horizon of my life with Humphrey, one ant at a time.