Humans occupy a position of extraordinary power over other animals. We decide whether they are bred, confined, transported, killed, and eaten. Most people I know eat meat, at least occasionally. Perhaps they don’t let themselves think about what the animal might have endured on the journey to their plate. Perhaps they’ve considered it and don’t care. Perhaps they live somewhere between indifference and discomfort, and do it anyway.

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My mom was a dedicated animal lover, yet she ate meat daily. When I asked her how eating animals fit with her love for animals, she breezily replied, “Oh, I just don’t think about it.”

We humans seem especially adept at pursuing self-interest while shutting out inconvenient realities that expose the conflict between what we do and the values we claim to hold.

It’s a lot easier not to trouble ourselves with thoughts about how our actions directly contribute to the suffering of other sentient beings. But I think we should.

“But the Animal is Already Dead”

One argument I’ve heard is, “Well, the animal is already dead. I’m not killing it.” But the animal’s death is not disconnected from the decision to buy meat. Supply and demand link consumer choices to what producers continue to supply. If fewer people chose to eat meat, fewer animals would be slaughtered.

So, yes, by eating meat, you are contributing to a system that breeds, confines, and kills animals for food, causing them fear, deprivation, and suffering in the process.

Over the course of a human lifetime, meat eaters eat an average of 2,000–2,600 chickens, 25–35 pigs, and 10–15 cows. The exact number will differ according to a person’s diet, but the moral point remains: these are not abstractions. These are thousands of individual animals, and suffering occurs one individual animal at a time.

Convenience, Need, and Want

There is an important difference between convenience, need, and want. For most people with regular access to ordinary grocery stores, eating animals is not a necessity. Beans, lentils, grains, potatoes, nuts, tofu, eggs, etc. are generally inexpensive, accessible foods that make satisfying and healthy meals.

Of course, people’s circumstances differ. But finding a change difficult is not the same as having no alternative. For many people, meat is not a need. It is a preference—often a deeply familiar and socially reinforced one, but a preference nonetheless.

When we can reduce suffering without sacrificing adequate nourishment, our preference for convenience and taste deserves moral scrutiny.

Looking Them in the Eye

Much of what allows people to eat animals without confronting the moral weight of it is distance. The animal is no longer seen as a living individual. Their body has been has been cut apart, packaged, refrigerated, and transformed into a product. Someone else bred them, confined them, transported them, and killed them.

Could you look that cow in the eye and kill and eat her? Could you look a chicken or pig in the eye and do the same?

If we are unwilling to look an animal in the eye and take their life ourselves, perhaps we should not be so comfortable outsourcing that violence to someone else.

Compassion in Action

Compassion becomes real when it changes what we do

Choose one meal—or one week—in which you do not eat animals. Do it as an honest experiment: a chance to notice what is habit, what is convenience, what you genuinely need, and what alternatives are available to you.

• Replace at least one familiar meat-centered meal with a plant-based version this week.

• Choose beans, lentils, tofu, chickpeas, or another protein you already enjoy.

• Before buying meat, pause and ask: Is this something I need—or something I have simply been taught to expect?

• If you eat eggs or dairy, consider making the experiment about meat first, rather than demanding an immediate all-or-nothing change.

• If the change feels manageable, repeat it next week and build from there.

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Only 5% of America’s National Wildlife Refuge System is now closed to hunting and fishing. Put differently: on most refuge land, “refuge” no longer means a place where wild animals are safe from recreational killing.

That is the central fact worth sitting with.

On August 13, 2026, the Trump administration finalized what it proudly called the largest expansion of hunting and sport-fishing access in the history of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. The rule expanded hunting and fishing access at 111 national wildlife refuges and fish hatcheries in 32 states. More than 92 million acres—more than 95% of refuge-system land—are now available for hunting or fishing.

A network created to protect wildlife is being transformed into one where animals may be pursued, hooked, shot, trapped, or otherwise killed across nearly all of its land.

What has been lost

The Trump administration has not simply expanded hunting and fishing on wildlife refuges; it has weakened the capacity to enforce rules and manage public land responsibly.

The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service has lost nearly 1,800 employees—about 18% of its workforce—through cuts, buyouts, and hiring restrictions. Senators reviewing internal agency information reported that almost 60% of refuges lacked the staff and resources needed to fulfill their missions, while 9% were effectively “shuttered.”

Fewer staff means fewer people to investigate violations, enforce hunting and fishing rules, monitor wildlife, maintain habitat and public-access infrastructure, protect threatened species, and determine whether public uses remain compatible with a refuge’s purpose.

Expanding hunting under these conditions is not conservation. It is an abdication of care.

The Trump administration has also proposed rescinding September phaseouts of lead ammunition and lead fishing tackle at nine national wildlife refuges. Lead shot, bullet fragments, and lost lead fishing tackle poison wildlife when ingested and persist in soil, sediment, and waterways.

Objection without mobilization

There has been some opposition among animal advocates, but not nearly enough. A coalition of conservation and animal-protection organizations submitted formal comments opposing the expansion without adequate staffing, funding, monitoring, and public-safety planning. The coalition also urged the Fish and Wildlife Service to retain the scheduled lead-ammunition and fishing-tackle phaseouts.

But a formal comment letter is not a sustained public campaign. For a change this sweeping—one that leaves only a sliver of the refuge system free from recreational killing—animal advocacy organizations should be making the stakes visible, urgent, and ethically clear, and they have not.

Hunting may be politically difficult to confront. Some organizations focus on factory farming, companion animals, habitat loss, climate, or endangered-species litigation. Some conservation groups also support hunting as a traditional use of public land.

Those realities may help explain the failure to mobilize. They do not excuse it.

What advocates can do now

Animal-protection groups do not need to wait for another administration to begin acting.

They can:

• Tell the public plainly that a refuge should provide genuine safety for wild animals.

• Build a national campaign to preserve and expand hunting-free refuge areas, especially migration stopovers, breeding sites, and habitat used by threatened species.

• Demand accessible maps, species and season information, monitoring data, and advance public notice of hunting and fishing activity at every refuge.

• Press Congress to restore FWS staffing, refuge funding, and law-enforcement capacity before authorizing further expansion.

• Defend and strengthen non-lead ammunition and fishing-tackle requirements.

• Challenge weak compatibility findings, inadequate public process, and actions that endanger migratory birds or protected species.

• Organize birders, hikers, photographers, families, wildlife rehabilitators, ethical anglers, and nonhunters—the much larger public whose relationship with wildlife is not based on killing.

Federal law gives hunting and fishing special status in national wildlife refuges only when the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service finds them “compatible” with the mission of the refuge system and each refuge’s purpose. That makes public pressure even more necessary. “Compatible” should mean more than legally permissible. It should mean compatible with the well-being of animals, the ecological needs of a specific place, and the public’s reasonable expectation that a refuge offers refuge.

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Compassion in action

You can help make this issue harder to ignore:

• Contact your U.S. senators and representative. Ask them to restore refuge staffing and funding, protect non-lead requirements, and require transparent, science-based compatibility findings before hunting is expanded on any refuge. Find your US Congressperson: https://www.congress.gov/members/find-your-member

• Find your local refuge. Look up its hunt plan, visit, and ask the refuge manager what areas remain permanently free from hunting and fishing. Request clear maps and advance public notice of seasons.

• Speak as a nonhunter. Public-land policy is often dominated by hunting organizations. Write a letter to the editor, contact local media, or share a short post explaining why wildlife watchers and animal advocates need true sanctuaries too.

• Support groups working on wildlife protection and public-lands accountability. In particular, support organizations challenging rollbacks, defending habitat, and fighting for safeguards against lead poisoning.

• Use the right words. This is not about denying people access to nature. It is about asking whether a nation with hundreds of refuges can preserve more than 5% of them as places where wild animals are not targets.

A refuge should mean refuge

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Key points

• Those who ignore ample data about animal minds wrongly criticize the use of anecdotes and anthropomorphism.

• Scientific uncertainty and mistaken claims about human exceptionalism also result in intentional data-denying.

• Data deniers take the easy way out by misrepresenting detailed research that results in mistreatment.

A question that I’m repeatedly asked: “Why is there a lag between learning facts about animal consciousness, sentience, and emotions and using what we know?” Mary, a well-known psychologist who calls herself a cognitive ethologist—someone who studies animal minds—wrote me a nice note asking me to say more, if I could, about the mindset of people who feel comfortable denying scientific facts about animal minds while continuing to do harmful research that has little to no bearing on who the animals really are.

Why animals “lose their minds” and the downsides of data-denying

One of the most egregious and surprising examples of animals losing their minds due to ignoring detailed comparative data on animal cognition and emotions for these clearly sentient and deeply emotional beings can be found in the current updated US Federal Animal Welfare Act, where we read,

“Enacted January 23, 2002, Title X, Subtitle D of the Farm Security and Rural Investment Act, changed the definition of ‘animal’ in the Animal Welfare Act, specifically excluding birds, rats of the genus Rattus, and mice of the genus Mus, bred for use in research.”

I am always incredulous that the Animal Welfare Act does not consider these indisputable animals to be animals. Of course, these rodents are the go-to animals used by the millions in various invasive studies; this use must be defended. Other indisputable animals also are conveniently tossed out of the animal kingdom. People are shocked when I tell them this. We know from detailed scientific research that they have highly evolved cognitive and emotional capacities, they experience empathy, and rats laugh and like to be tickled. We know that tickling laboratory rats is good for science. What more do we need to show that these are sentient beings with rich and deep emotional lives?

Why is data denied?

This question is covered in great detail in two books with numerous references to scientific research.¹ Here is a summary of these lengthy discussions; most people do not know why some researchers ignore a wealth of scientific research.¹ In addition to the popularity of paradigm science, economic incentives, and laws and regulations that are built on faulty assumptions and misreadings of available data, I highlight four reasons why this occurs.

Scientific uncertainty means that an ever-declining number of skeptics claim that existing data do not prove other animals are richly and deeply emotional, sometimes saying that we don’t even know if they are conscious or sentient. While a dwindling number of people still claim we can never know precisely what a nonhuman animal (animal) is truly feeling, most researchers and the vast majority of lay people do not doubt that these and many animals are highly sentient beings.

Anecdotes are all you offer. This claim is false; animal consciousness studies use real, hard data, not fabricated stories. Thus, animals are only acting “as if” they have feelings when they really don’t. Nothing could be further from scientific truth.²

Oh, you’re just being anthropomorphic by claiming animals are feeling beings. This is one of the most common criticisms by deniers. Anthropomorphism is unavoidable and is extremely useful when used carefully, critically, and biocentrically precisely because humans have no other vocabulary for describing the subjective experiences of nonhuman animals. Anthropomorphism makes animals’ worlds accessible to us, but it does not mean animals feel exactly what we feel, or even what other individuals of the same or other species feel. Anthropomorphic language functions as a bridge for understanding rather than a literal scientific claim of identity between human and animal experience. Mindful anthropomorphism works.

Anthropomorphic language also helps us better understand other animals and highlights their individual personalities, and it’s not “more anthropomorphic” to say an animal is unhappy than to say they’re happy. It’s time to accept the benefits of anthropomorphism and use it on behalf of other animals. Naysayers about the usefulness of “being anthropomorphic” and those who ignore what we now know and have known for many decades about animal minds and hearts need to get over it and appreciate the benefits of recognizing it. Eminent researcher Frans de Waal argues that anthropodenial no longer works—the “blindness to the humanlike characteristics of other animals or the animal-like characteristics of ourselves.”

This apt quotation is right on the mark:

The mental territory we can claim to be ‘uniquely human’ is shrinking at an alarming rate. Wasps can distinguish faces, dolphins call one another by name, pigs use tools, zebra finches dream, parrots go on Zoom, and sometimes crayfish get anxious. Chimps, meanwhile, exist in complex cultures, rather like ours, with fashion trends.–Martha Gill³

Anthropocentrism argues for human exceptionalism and refers to false claims that humans are exceptional or superior beings— “better,” “more valuable,” or “higher” than nonhumans—or smarter, more sentient, and experience deeper emotional lives. Thus, claims about what other animals feel, whether supported by science or not, don’t change the fact that they are separate and below and inferior to humans on some purported human-created scale of complexity. Clearly, they are not less than us.⁴

Follow the science: Animal minds are dynamic, rich, and deep

Studying animal minds and learning what’s in them and how they work can range from being fairly easy to being incredibly difficult. There is wide-ranging and ever-growing interest in animal minds, and ample research clearly shows that denying animals the emotional capacities they clearly possess is highly unscientific. Why aren’t myriad scientists who know that rats, mice, birds and other animals are indeed minded animals speaking out against this?

Rather than playing a role in animals losing their minds, we should celebrate and respect them for who they are and not worry about whether this means we are “lesser mammals.” We’re not. Frans de Waal wonders if we’re not smart enough to know what’s happening in animal minds.

We are not the standard or measure against whom other animals should be measured. We are a highly variable and exceptional species just like countless other animals. Changing our ways and valuing other animals will be better for them and for us, and this is precisely where current science takes us.

References

Zipple, M. N., Hazelwood, C., Webster, M. F., & Benítez, M. E. Animal emotions and consciousness: A preliminary assessment of researchers’ perceptions and biases and prospects for future progress. Royal Society Open Science, 11 (11), 25, 2024.

Zych, A. D., & Gogolla, N. Expressions of emotions across species. Current Opinion in Neurobiology, 68, 57, 2021.

1. Bekoff, Marc. The Emotional Lives of Animals: A Leading Scientist Explores Animal Joy, Sorrow, and Empathy―and Why They Matter, New World Library, second edition, 2024; _____ and Jeff Campbell. Love in Their Hearts: A Celebration of Animal Emotions and a Guide to Compassionate Action. Armin Lear Press, Inc., 2026

See Bekoff, M and Allen, C. Cognitive Ethology: Slayers, Skeptics, and Proponents. In: Anthropomorphism, Anecdotes, and Animals: The Emperor’s New Clothes? (Eds) R. W. Mitchell, N. Thompson, and L. Miles. New York, State University of New York Press. 313-334. 1997 for a discussion of different views on animal minds.

2. See “Animal Emotions: Exploring Passionate Natures“ for more discussion of the uninformed “as-if” disclaimer.

3. Martha Gill. When dogs recall toys, and horses plan, are animals so different from us? The Guardian. September 7, 2024.

4. Animal Minds and the Foible of Human Exceptionalism; How to Be Animal: The Case Against Human Exceptionalism; “The Arrogant Ape”: A Strong Case Against Human Superiority.

*Marc Bekoff is professor emeritus of Ecology and Evolutionary Biology at the University of Colorado, Boulder. He has published more than 30 books including The Emotional Lives of Animals and has won many awards for his research and writing. His homepage is marcbekoff.com Here is the link to his forthcoming book coauthored with Jane Goodall: Every Elephant Has a Name

Photo courtesy of Nikolett Emmert, Pexels.com

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We’ve believed for years that cats live in the now—that they’re models of mindfulness, unburdened by memory or regret or anxiety. “Be like a cat” appears in meditation blogs, mindfulness sites, and social media memes.

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It’s a comforting fiction, one that lets us project our own longing to be more present onto an animal that is easy to misread. But the science of animal cognition has moved on: cats, like other species, carry the past and anticipate the future in ways we have finally begun to grasp.

Cats remember places, and recognize familiar voices and names. They distinguish their own names from similar-sounding words. They respond more strongly to their caregiver’s voice than to a stranger’s, even when they cannot see the speaker. Cats learn to associate a housemate cat’s name with its face, differentiating the name from their own.

They use past experience to guide what they do next. Field and observational work describes cats building and efficiently using mental maps of their territory: they memorize landmarks, safe paths, hiding spots, and resource locations (food, water, perches). They remember the location of hidden objects for at least 60 seconds—a useful window for an animal that must track moving or disappearing prey.

In daily life, cats organize behavior around expected events—showing up just before feeding time and waiting by the door at the usual arrival time of their caregiver.

They greet their owner differently depending on the length of the absence. Purring, stretching, and contact-seeking behavior occurs more when the absence is long compared to short (4 hours versus 30 minutes). A cat is not simply perceiving whether their owner is with them or away but is sensitive to elapsed time and adjusts its greeting accordingly.

Because cats understand cause, effect, and time, they can plan a multi-step sequence to bring about a desired outcome. When a cat wants to open a lever-style bedroom door, they jump, use their body weight to pull the lever down, drop back to the floor, and immediately jam their paw into the open crack and pull the door open before the latch re-engages.

This sequence shows that the cat is thinking ahead and has a mental picture of what each step will accomplish a split second later. In other words, the cat is executing a sequence of planned steps to bring about a very specific future.

Cats have highly developed brains with a similar basic layout to ours and are wired to turn input, like sights, sounds, and smells, into decisions and actions. Their brains, like ours, are neuroplastic: they adapt to learning and experiences by reorganizing neural circuits and, in some cases, forming new connections and pathways.

Behaviorally, cats rely on the same basic memory systems we do: they have working memory for short-term tasks and a robust long-term memory. They have vivid recall of both comforting and frightening episodes tied to particular people, events, and places, and recall can last for years.

They instantly recognize a cat carrier as a cue for an unpleasant vet experience and skulk off to avoid it years after the association was formed. Experiences from kittenhood, such as exposure to certain people or noises, can shape a cat’s behavior and reactions long into adulthood.

So, cats not only possess the enviable ability to be intensely focused in the present moment, they also track patterns, form associations, store memories, solve problems, and respond to what they’ve learned.

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If there’s nothing I can even attempt to do (the dog with the pleading eyes in the Hunan, China marketplace—but that’s a story for a different post), I feel heartsick, and I can’t just let it go.

Life would be a lot easier for me if I didn’t care, or if I didn’t notice animals in need. Or if I noticed and could simply put my mind elsewhere. I almost envy people who can do that—with an emphasis on almost, because my respect for those who do flags a little.

My problem, if it can be called that, is that I tend to feel deeply. This has many benefits, but it also means that another creature’s suffering can undo me.

So why do I let myself care? There’s a degree of choice in this. I could try to school my mind not to feel so much, not to care so much, not to try to help. But I wouldn’t like myself very much if I did. And I wouldn’t have made the incremental differences I’ve made in the lives of some animals. That matters to me.

There is a world of animal suffering. Suffering is felt by one individual at a time, even when it’s collectively massive. While saving the life of one animal won’t change the world, for that one animal, the world changes completely.

If you have your own “why do I care” moment, please consider sharing it—your story might be the one that helps someone else stop looking away.

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Here are the beliefs about animals scientists promoted in the 20^th century.

• Animals do not decide to do things; their environment triggers action.

• Because animals lack human language, they lack the capacity for structured thought or true consciousness.

• Attributing emotions and desires to animals is unscientific sentimentality, and to feel compassion or empathy for them is anthropomorphizing them.

• An animal’s cry of pain is explained as a simple mechanical reflex, like a teakettle whistling under pressure; any claim that the animal actually experiences suffering is unscientific.

• Animals lack a sense of time and memory; animals live only in the immediate present, meaning they cannot “miss” their offspring, anticipate future slaughter, or suffer psychological trauma from confinement.

This ideology has been incredibly convenient. It absolves people from having to consider that they are directly or indirectly causing suffering when they eat meat, ignore the stray, crying cat, buy puppy mill dogs from pet stores, wear fur, conduct invasive or lethal lab testing, or support industries that exploit animals, like horse racing, marine parks, roadside zoos, and some circuses.

While the science has progressed—and decades of cognitive ethology and neuroscientific research provide evidence that vertebrates and invertebrates think and feel—our behavior has not changed apace with the facts. Many of our choices and actions are still aligned with old, faulty beliefs. For example, animal lovers dote on their pets and then sit down to a dinner of factory-farmed meat. These animals are uniformly raised in brutal conditions and often slaughtered inhumanely.

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Compassion in Action:

Change can start on an individual level. It begins with a willingness to look honestly at our daily habits and bridge the gap between what we now know about animals and how we act. To align your actions with modern science on animal sentience and cognition, you can:

• Reduce or Eliminate Meat and Dairy: Shifting toward a plant-based diet is the single most powerful way to withdraw financial support from the factory farming system.

• Adopt, Don’t Shop: Choose to rescue pets from shelters rather than buying from commercial breeders or puppy mills that treat animals as commodities.

• Support Animal-Free Product Testing: Look for cruelty-free labels on cosmetics, household cleaners, and personal care products to boycott invasive laboratory testing.

• Choose Animal-Free Entertainment: Avoid operations that keep wild, intelligent animals in captivity for human amusement, choosing instead to support genuine wildlife sanctuaries.

• Vote for Better Animal Protections: Support local and national legislation that bans extreme confinement (like gestation crates) and expands legal rights for animals.

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I came to the shelter looking for a dog who could live peacefully with my two cats.

The shelter director asked me—actually, she pleaded with me—to consider a hound named Finn. As we walked down the aisle of kennels with barking dogs, she told me he was gentle with all animals and the only one among the fifty rescues from Alabama who hadn’t been adopted. He had arrived a year ago.

When we reached his kennel, Finn was sitting alone, hunkered down, while the larger dogs housed with him barked and played together nearby.

The director called to Finn. He walked toward us hesitantly, looking left and right as if wondering whether she might be calling another dog.

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Crouching down, I extended my hand toward him. He sniffed it cautiously and then leaned my hand as I pet him.

Then Finn began to dance.

He hopped in place, lifting one front foot and then the other, and rocked between his front and back legs like a child on a rocking horse. Sometimes he moved in a circle, always to the left, and sometimes he fell over.

The director said that people laughed and pointed when he danced, and then they moved on. They wanted to adopt a more normal dog.

I saw a shy dog trying hard to be noticed. I nodded to the director.

Smiling broadly, she suggested we visit one of the cat rooms with Finn. While I stood at the door, she picked up Finn and placed him among several cats. Two of them rubbed against him and he nuzzled them. One cat walked under him, twice.

I took him outside to the play yard. Finn stretched out on the warm grass and rolled on his back. As I stroked him he looked at me with such gentleness.

As I was filling out the adoption paperwork, the director told me more.

Finn was rescued as a puppy along with others from a dreadful situation in Alabama. A woman sold purebred puppies via a polished website. Behind the scenes, she kept 300 neglected dogs confined in crates outdoors. Finn spent his first four months in a crate so small the only movements he could make were rocking back and forth between his front and back legs and doing his three-legged hop.

Then distemper swept through, killing several of the dogs. Finn lived, although some of his motor skills were damaged—hence his circling, his losing balance and falling over.

The woman was eventually arrested, prosecuted, and served jail time—a rarity in animal cruelty cases. The dogs were rescued and one by one found homes. Finn did not, until that day.

Finn came home with me and stood in the living room in a patch of sunlight. He looked around, curious, and watched the cats. They sensed his kindness and were unafraid.

Then he came to me, looked up, and licked my hand gingerly. I looked into his eyes and we held each other’s gaze. I stroked him slowly from his head to tail.

Finn sighed, circled, lay down beside me, and closed his eyes.

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Compassion in Action:

See the Individual
Every animal is more than their history or their body. Spend a few quiet minutes with an animal others overlook. Connection often reveals what first impressions hide.

Ask One More Question
When visiting a shelter, ask staff: “Who has been here the longest?” or “Who gets overlooked?” That single question can introduce you to an animal like Finn—a sweet soul waiting for recognition.

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Noah’s Ark Animal Sanctuary in Locust Grove, Georgia, took in three young apex predators—a lion, a tiger, and a bear—who had been rescued in a raid of the house of a drug dealer/exotic animal trader in Atlanta. Leo the lion, Shere Khan the tiger, and Baloo, a black bear, were frightened, injured, malnourished, and ill. Baloo was in particularly bad shape and required surgery to remove the restraining harness that had fused with his skin and deformed his shoulder.

In the wild, the relationship between these animals would be one of competition or avoidance rather than formation of a social group. The sanctuary kept the three animals together, since they came together as a kind of family and were calmer in each other’s presence.

During Baloo’s absence for surgery, Leo and Shere Khan became agitated, vocalizing, and refusing food. When Baloo returned, that ceased.

One of the caregivers, watching Baloo nudge Shere Khan with an affectionate head butt and the tiger curling his body around the bear protectively, said, “They chose one another.” The three groomed one another, ate together without any food guarding, played together, and lay together. The affection was not dramatic. It was ordinary and looked a lot like trust.

The trio became a signature attraction at the 121-acre sanctuary and a frequent subject of media profiles and sanctuary posts that highlighted both their unusual companionship and their rescue origin. It offered a glimpse into how animals recovering from early hardship can respond to stability, care, and familiarity.

The story of Baloo, Leo, and Shere Khan illustrates both the cruelty of the exotic-pet trade and the role sanctuaries play in long-term rehabilitation and lifetime care for confiscated animals. The illegal wildlife trade is estimated to generate $23B annually and is rapidly growing. Exotic pets are sourced from captive breeding and wild capture, often illegally, and then moved through legal or illegal supply chains.

Image credit: Barcroft Media

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Compassion in Action:

Choose not to buy exotic animals

A video about the trio:

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Some stories about pigs leave an impression because they show the animals doing something specific and consequential in real life. These documented accounts of individual pigs suggest that pigs are observant, intelligent, responsive, and flexible in the ways they act when something matters.

Lulu, a pot-bellied pig in Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania, was credited with helping to save her owner’s life after the woman suffered a heart attack at home. According to reports, Lulu exited the house through the dog door, squeezed out of the gate, and lay down in the road until a driver stopped and got out of the car. Lulu then led the driver to the house, where he found the owner incapacitated. Emergency responders transported the woman to the hospital, and she survived.

Priscilla, a pig in Houston, Texas, helped save an 11-year-old boy struggling in a lake. Priscilla swam to the boy, who grabbed onto her harness. Priscilla then towed him back to shore safely, though the pair went under twice en route. It was reported that when Priscilla later returned to the lake with her owner, she became visibly agitated when children were near the water.

Lucky, a pet pig in Mount Carmel, Illinois, woke a family during a fire by squealing, jumping on and off the bed, and running repeatedly to the door until the homeowner realized the room was filling with smoke. Lucky’s alarm behavior was credited with saving the lives of Ina Farler and her two grandchildren.

Hamilton, a 500-pound pet pig in Union Township, New Jersey, helped his owner escape a house fire by closing the garage door after flames broke out in the garage. Reports say Hamilton had been trained to operate doors, and that his action delayed the fire’s spread long enough for the owner and Hamilton to escape.

Taken together, these accounts show pigs as animals capable of learning, remembering, noticing distress, and acting in ways that matter in the moment. They support a straightforward conclusion: pigs can be attentive, socially responsive animals whose behavior is more complex than their reputation might suggest.

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Compassion in Action:

If you want to make a difference, don’t eat pigs. Ninety percent of US pigs are factory-farmed, and the abuses to pigs in that setting far exceed the routine abuses to other factory-farmed animals.

Photo courtesy of Anna on Pexels.

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Mr. Bean, an Amish rescue:

Millie, rescued along with her sisters in West Virginia:

Juni, adopted from Kitty Cottage in Norristown, PA:

Finn, rescued along with 49 other puppies in Alabama:

Beez, rescued from a fraternity house in Pennsylvania:

Gracie, who was tossed from a moving car by a driver in Peach Bottom, PA, was the kindest, wisest, and most generous animal I’ve ever known:

All of these animals have graced my life and made it so much richer, so much fuller. I trust I’ve done the same for them.

Compassion in Action:

There are roughly 70 million homeless dogs and cats today in the United States. Consider adopting one—or maybe two?—into your home and heart.

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Cowritten by Carolyn Cott & Diane Arave

Summer invites us outdoors—art shows, music festivals, farmers’ markets, picnics, and all kinds of gatherings that make us want to bring our animals along. But what feels like a fun outing can be uncomfortable, stressful, or even dangerous for them.

Heat poses one of the most serious and often underestimated risks. Once temperatures climb above 89°F (32°C), most dogs are at significant risk of heatstroke. Some dogs (including short-snouted breeds, puppies, senior dogs, and those with underlying health conditions) are vulnerable at even lower temperatures.

Unlike humans, dogs do not sweat in the same way we do and cannot efficiently regulate their body temperature. They rely primarily on panting, which is far less efficient in hot or humid conditions.

Never leave a pet—or a child—in a parked car. Temperatures inside a vehicle can rise rapidly, becoming deadly within minutes, even with windows cracked. Minutes matter—and dogs cannot escape.

Car Temperature Risk Chart (Windows Cracked)

Outdoor Temperature → Inside Car Temperature (after ~10–30 minutes)

· 70°F → ~89–104°F
· 75°F → ~94–109°F
· 80°F → ~99–114°F
· 85°F → ~104–119°F
· 90°F → ~109–124°F
· 95°F → ~114–129°F

Note: Cracking the windows has minimal impact on slowing heat buildup. Interior temperatures can rise by 20°F in 10 minutes and continue climbing. Fully opening the windows only reduces the inside temperatures of the car in the chart above by 2–5°F.

The ground underfoot can be just as dangerous. On a sunny day, asphalt and pavement can reach temperatures between 125–140°F (52–60°C)—hot enough to burn paw pads within seconds. A simple rule: if it is too hot for your bare hand or foot, it is too hot for your dog.

It is also worth reconsidering exercise routines. Running or cycling with your dog in midday heat can be dangerous, even for active breeds. Opt for early morning or evening outings when temperatures and surfaces are cooler.

Summer environments also bring sensory stress. Crowds, loud music, sudden noises, and unfamiliar settings can overwhelm even well-adjusted animals. Fireworks and thunderstorms, in particular, are major triggers for fear and disorientation.

Ensuring your pet has proper identification—including up-to-date tags and a registered microchip—is essential, particularly during high-noise seasons like the 4th of July, when lost pet cases spike dramatically.

Knowing the signs of heatstroke can save a life. Early symptoms include excessive panting, drooling, vomiting, and lethargy. This is a medical emergency. As the condition progresses, you may see disorientation, collapse, seizures, or gums that appear bright red, pale, blue, or bruised. If heatstroke is suspected, act immediately:

· Move your pet to a shaded or air-conditioned space
· Begin gradual cooling with cool (not cold) water
· Offer small amounts of water if they are alert
· Increase airflow with fans if possible
· Seek veterinary care immediately

Sometimes, the kindest and most responsible choice is to leave your animals at home, where they are safe and comfortable. Inclusion is not always care.

Compassion in Action:

A safe summer begins with a pause: check the temperature, consider the environment, and prioritize your animal’s well-being over the impulse to bring them along.

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A dog offers you a toy—then pulls it away at the last second, watching closely to see what you’ll do next.

A chimp gently pokes another chimp, pauses, and tries again when nothing happens.

Neither animal is trying to survive, find food, or avoid danger. Instead, both seem interested in the same thing: getting a reaction.

That raises an intriguing possibility. What if some of the behaviors we associate with humor in us—teasing, surprise, playful provocation, and the enjoyment of another’s response—didn’t begin with humans at all?

Scientists still don’t have a simple answer. Part of the difficulty is that humor itself is hard to define, even in humans. It depends on intention, timing, shared understanding, and an element of surprise.

Yet when researchers watch animals closely, they keep noticing something familiar: individuals tease, test reactions, and sometimes repeat behaviors simply because they get a response.

Great Apes: The Roots of Teasing

The clearest examples of playful teasing come from our closest relatives, the great apes.

In a study published in Proceedings of the Royal Society B: Biological Sciences in 2024, researchers analyzed 75 hours of video of orangutans, chimpanzees, bonobos, and gorillas. They identified 142 cases of what they called playful teasing.

The behaviors were simple but recognizable. Apes poked companions, tugged their hair, blocked their movements, waved objects in front of their faces, or otherwise interrupted whatever they were doing.

Importantly, these moments didn’t happen in the middle of conflict. They mostly occurred during calm periods—resting, grooming, feeding—when nothing in the environment demanded a reaction.

What stood out was how closely the teaser appeared to monitor the other animal’s response. After an initial provocation, they would often pause and watch. If nothing happened, the behavior was repeated or adjusted.

Few such events escalated into aggression. Most interactions stayed in that in-between space: a steady back-and-forth that kept things going.

Whether or not we call it humor, the behavior reveals something important: apes appear keenly interested in the reactions they create in others. That social awareness—and the ability to fine tune behavior accordingly—may have deep evolutionary roots, shared across a wide range of social species.

Dogs: Turning Life into a Game

The same pattern appears in a species most of us know well: dogs.

Charles Darwin noticed it more than 150 years ago. In The Descent of Man, he described a dog that would lure its owner toward a stick, only to snatch it away at the last second, repeatedly.

What interested Darwin wasn’t just the trick itself. It was the repetition—as if the dog were running the same interaction again and again, anticipating a predictable reaction.

Anyone who has lived with a dog recognizes the pattern immediately: A toy is offered and then yanked away. A chase is invited and then abruptly reversed. Each time, the game shifts the moment it seems to begin. These aren’t just interactions using objects. They are interactions shaped around another’s mind. They depend on prediction, timing, and reading the response of another.

Dolphins: Signaling to Indicate Play

Dolphins frequently engage in mock chases, wrestling, and play-fighting. Like other highly social animals, they use vocal and visual signals to communicate that an interaction is playful rather than aggressive.

During play, dolphins produce distinctive bursts of clicks and pulses, often followed by whistles. These vocal patterns do not appear in genuine fights. They seem to function as markers within the interaction itself—signals that help guide the flow of play.

Even more intriguing is a facial expression often seen during high-energy social moments: an open-mouthed, relaxed gape. Scientists avoid calling it a smile in the human sense. But functionally, it may be close: a signal that says, this is not a threat.

In other words, dolphins don’t just play. They actively mark play while it is happening.

Elephants and Parrots: Experimenting with Mischief

Young elephants engage in wrestling, chasing, and splashing for obvious enjoyment. But such play doesn’t fade with age—adults often continue long after those behaviors stop being necessary for development.

In one well-known case at Berlin Zoo, an elephant discovered it could interrupt another’s shower by bending a water hose. What followed wasn’t punishment or escalation, but repetition. The interaction became a shared game, revisited again and again.

Something similar appears in birds, especially parrots, which are highly social and highly responsive to attention.

In captivity, African grey parrots have imitated a doorbell or phone ring repeatedly to draw humans into the room. They’ve mimicked household phrases out of context (like “who’s there?” when no one is at the door) to interrupt conversations and gain attention.

It isn’t random imitation. It’s timing and learned expectation: behaviors that reliably produce reactions.

What the Evidence Adds Up To

We still can’t say definitively whether animals experience anything like human humor. That gap remains, for now. But what we can say is this: across many species, a recurring pattern appears.

A sensitivity to others’ reactions, repeated attempts to engage them, and flexible social behavior show up again and again in highly social and cognitively sophisticated animals.

Perhaps it’s not humor as we know it, but it’s not far from the raw material that makes humor possible in humans.

The most accurate way to put it might be this: some animals don’t just play in the world—they play with it. And they seem genuinely interested in what their actions set in motion.

Sources

ABC30. “Dolphins ‘Smile’ at Each Other When They Play and to Avoid Misunderstanding, Study Finds.” October 3, 2024.
BBC Future. “Why Some Animals Have Evolved a Sense of Humour.” February 24, 2024.
Bekoff, Marc. “Teasing Apes Suggest Humor Has Deep Evolutionary Roots.” Psychology Today, February 15, 2024.
Darwin, Charles. The Descent of Man. London: John Murray, 1871.
Laumer, Isabelle B., Sasha L. Winkler, Federico Rossano, and Erica A. Cartmill. “Spontaneous Playful Teasing in Four Great Ape Species.” Proceedings of the Royal Society B 291, no. 2016 (2024): 20232345.
Nature World News. “Understanding an Elephant’s Playful Side.” January 27, 2015.

Photo courtesy of Jacob Vizek on Unsplash

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Compassion in Action

Let your dog “win” sometimes—in play, constantly steering the outcome can shut down engagement. Allowing a dog to keep the toy or “outsmart” you occasionally sustains the back-and-forth dynamic these interactions depend on.

For centuries, animals were cast as instinct-driven machines—reacting rather than thinking.

Yet across many species, animals do more than respond to their surroundings: they sometimes manipulate what others see, hear, or infer.

Deception is not uncommon in nature (including among human animals). Some forms of deception are relatively fixed, automatic, evolved strategies that operate with little flexibility—such as camouflage, mimicry, and brood parasitism.

Others are more fluid and context-sensitive, varying with the audience, the situation, and what the deceiver stands to gain. This article focuses on the flexible forms of deception: cases in which behavior appears adjusted to circumstances rather than simply triggered.

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Context-Sensitive Deception in Action

Scrub Jays: Hiding from Thieves
Scrub jays don’t normally move their caches of food, but when they observe another bird stealing from caches, they re-hide their cache (later, when they believe they aren’t being watched). This shows they’re tracking who might steal and adjusting not just where they cache, but when and whether to re-cache.

Killdeer: The Broken-Wing Act
When a predator approaches its nest, a killdeer feigns a broken wing, flopping and dragging on the ground while chirping. This tricks predators into following the “easy meal” away from the nest. Once they’re far enough away, the killdeer flies off. Importantly, the intensity and timing of the display can vary with predator distance and type, suggesting this is not a rigid script but a context-sensitive display.

Chimpanzees: Volume Control and False Alarms
In some chimpanzee groups in Gombe National Park, Tanzania, subordinates produce low-amplitude “food grunts” instead of louder ones when dominant individuals are nearby. These quieter calls let them recruit allies to share food while avoiding dominants who are prone to stealing it. Allies help defend the food from theft.

Subordinate chimps have also been observed giving false alarm calls that send the group fleeing, leaving food behind for the caller alone. These deceptive calls are adjusted to social context and payoffs.

Fork-Tailed Drongo: The False Alarm Specialist
This African bird is known for giving false alarm calls to scare other animals away from food they’re devouring. Once the others flee, the drongo swoops in and steals what they left behind. It is one of the clearest examples of context-sensitive deception in the wild. Notably, drongos modify which alarm calls they use depending on the species they’re targeting and may switch calls when a group becomes less responsive—evidence of learning and strategic adjustment.

Ravens: Fake Caches
Ravens sometimes pretend to hide food when they’re being watched—digging and covering empty spots—and then later cache the food elsewhere in private. This behavior depends on whether observers are present and on the ravens’ knowledge of the observers’ history—specifically, whether they know those observers have stolen food before. This indicates a flexible response rather than automatic action.

Cuttlefish: Dual Signaling
Male cuttlefish have been observed displaying a courtship pattern toward a female on one side of their body while simultaneously showing a female-like pattern toward a rival male on the other side. This split display is deployed selectively depending on social arrangement, suggesting real-time assessment of multiple audiences.

Mimic Octopus: A Costume Changer
The mimic octopus can alter its shape and posture to resemble other animals, including dangerous ones. It does not rely on one disguise; it can switch forms depending on the threat. Field observations suggest the octopus selects different impersonations (such as lionfish, flatfish, or sea snakes) depending on the type of predator it encounters and the environmental context. This conditional switching—rather than a single default disguise—makes it one of the stronger invertebrate examples of flexible, situation-dependent deception.

Cleaner Fish: Cheating and Repairing Trust
Cleaner wrasse usually remove parasites from larger fish, but they sometimes “cheat” by eating mucus instead, which is of no use to the host fish. Mucus is nutritious and easier to get than parasites, so it’s a quick payoff for the cleaner. When they do this, however, the host fish may “punish” them by leaving (or thrashing or chasing them off). After “cheating,” in an effort to prolong the interaction and prevent the host from leaving, cleaners often provide gentler service—sometimes “massaging” the host with fin strokes.

In controlled studies, cleaner fish cheat more in situations where punishment by the host is unlikely—when the host isn’t watching closely or has tolerated cheating before—and they behave more cooperatively when being watched by potential future hosts. This pattern suggests sensitivity to reputation, audience effects, and future consequences.

What This Reveals & Why This Matters

Animal deception points to cognitive abilities once thought to be uniquely human:

• Perspective awareness: Acting differently depending on what others see or know.

• Self-control: Suppressing an immediate impulse when it risks punishment or loss.

• Flexibility: Changing strategy based on context, audience, and past experience.

This is not simple reflex. It is decision-making shaped by memory, social awareness, and prediction. If animals can deceive, then they must have at least some grasp of what others perceive and expect. That does not make them human, but it does suggest minds that are aware, goal-directed, and socially responsive.

That matters because it changes how we think, or should think, about animal lives. The evidence of flexible deception shows that animals are not simple reflex machines—they’re aware, strategic, and socially complex. Yet factory farming confines them in crates and cages so small they cannot turn around, stretch, or engage in basic behaviors, treating them as production units. The same mismatch appears in laboratory housing that restricts problem-solving and social interaction, in wildlife management that ignores family bonds when culling highly social species, and in captive entertainment—zoos, aquariums, and marine parks—where animals are confined, isolated from their families, and forced to perform for human spectacle. These animals aren’t just reacting. They’re thinking, adjusting, and navigating complex social worlds. Treating them as if they aren’t undermines their reality—and our ethical responsibility to them.

Compassion in Action:

If you care about animal welfare, consider these steps:

• Reduce or eliminate animal products from your diet

• Choose humane certifications (when choosing not to avoid animal products entirely) that guarantee meaningful space, social interaction, and humane treatment

• Support wildlife protection that preserves family bonds and social structures

• Advocate against captive entertainment and don’t support it by attending events

• Vote for policies that recognize animals as sentient beings with cognitive and emotional needs

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There was a time—not very long ago—when asking whether animals have minds could be risky for a scientific career. In 1976, Donald R. Griffin published The Question of Animal Awareness: Evolutionary Continuity of Mental Experience. It was not well received by much of the scientific community.

Griffin was not a marginal figure straying into speculation. While an undergraduate at Harvard, Griffin co-discovered bat echolocation. He later became a professor of zoology at Cornell, Harvard, and Rockefeller. He was a member of the National Academy of Sciences and a leading authority on animal behavior. Yet when he proposed that nonhuman animals might also be conscious—might have subjective experiences—many colleagues reacted as if he had crossed a line science was not supposed to cross. His ideas, initially dismissed as speculative and out of character, have come around again and are now supported by a substantial body of evidence.

In The Question of Animal Awareness, Griffin contended that animal behavior was too adaptive, too flexible, and too context-specific to be explained away as mere automatic reflexes. He argued that evidence for animal awareness came from several observable sources: the ability to adjust their behavior when confronted with novel challenges or situations, communication systems that appeared to convey information about goals or states (such as bee dances and alarm calls), and the argument that scientists were imposing artificial barriers between human and animal minds rooted in Cartesian philosophical prejudices (animals are unconscious, feelingless biological machines without any inner mental life, awareness, or capacity for suffering). Griffin was careful not to claim that animals thought exactly as humans did; instead, he proposed that animals may have simpler, different subjective experiences, intentions, and perceptions that were often harder to detect than our own.

Griffin’s early work focused mainly on establishing the scientific case for animal awareness; its ethical implications became more explicit later, including in his 1992 Animal Minds. In that book he acknowledged work by ethologist Marc Bekoff and philosopher Dale Jamieson that connected cognitive ethology to ethics.

Bekoff has studied animal minds for decades and recently updated his award-winning book, The Emotional Lives of Animals: A Leading Scientist Explores Animal Joy, Sorrow, and Empathy―and Why They Matter. He is also co-author with Jeff Campbell of the about-to-be-published Love in Their Hearts: A Celebration of Animal Emotions and a Guide to Compassionate Action. Bekoff recalled being a young Ph.D. out for a beer with more senior scientists after attending a meeting where Griffin had bravely spoken about animal consciousness. The senior scientists were openly wondering whether Griffin had lost his mind. Bekoff told me, “I responded to their misplaced criticism: ‘No, he hasn’t lost his mind; he’s just paying attention to what animals are possibly thinking and feeling in different situations and expanding inquiry into animal awareness and animal minds while you treat them like they’re unthinking and unfeeling objects.’ They didn’t like that.” But as time went on, Griffin pioneered the study of animal minds (the field of cognitive ethology) and showed that back in the mid-70s, he was right on track with what we now know about the rich cognitive and emotional lives of a wide array of animals.

Kristin Andrews, known for her empirical and theoretical research into the similarities and differences in human and nonhuman animals’ cognitive, social, cultural, and moral capacities, described similarly intense reactions to Griffin’s arguments, with some audiences treating the topic as almost taboo—something that did not belong in serious scientific discussion.

The resistance was not really about a lack of observations; it was about what counted as a permissible explanation. At the time, the dominant scientific framework in psychology and animal behavior research insisted that science should describe and explain behavior without invoking internal mental states. Consciousness was considered subjective, unmeasurable, and therefore unscientific.

Griffin also used careful observation—but he argued that the flexibility and adaptability of animal behavior itself provided evidence for conscious experience, just as scientists infer unobservable entities—from gravity to electromagnetic forces—based on observable effects. His proposal was disarmingly simple: study animal behavior carefully, especially in natural settings, and ask what kinds of internal experiences might best explain flexible, adaptive actions.

This approach became known as the biological study of animal behavior from a mentalistic perspective. Griffin focused on behaviors that resisted easy explanation as fixed instinct: animals solving new problems, communicating in complex ways, using tools, and adjusting to novel situations. These patterns, he argued, suggested that animals were not mere biological machines but organisms navigating their worlds with some degree of awareness.

Griffin also emphasized evolutionary continuity. Human brains did not appear from nowhere; they evolved from earlier nervous systems. If consciousness has adaptive value—helping organisms respond to changing environments—then it is unlikely to be uniquely human.

For many critics, this was precisely the problem. They argued that consciousness could not be proven in animals, or that only language, self-reflection, or other human-like abilities would count as evidence. Griffin and others pointed out that the evidentiary bar often shifted: when animals satisfied one criterion, a new one appeared in its place. The result was an anthropocentric moving target that kept animal consciousness perpetually out of reach. To describe this resistance, Griffin coined the term mentophobia—a reluctance to consider animal minds at all. He argued that an unspoken resistance to studying subjective experience was limiting scientific progress.

Despite criticism, Griffin persisted, expanding his ideas in Animal Minds: Beyond Cognition to Consciousness (1992; 2001). Over time, the field shifted. Questions once dismissed as anthropomorphic speculation became a central area of research. Studies of dog play, corvid intelligence, primate social cognition, dolphin communication, and octopus problem-solving now routinely explore lines of inquiry Griffin helped legitimize. His status as a researcher and his persistence paid off for the benefit of science and animals.

In his obituary, the New York Times credited Griffin as “the only reason that animal thinking was given consideration at all.”

*I’d like to thank Marc Bekoff for suggesting the title of this piece.
Photos are courtesy of Pexels—Aisha Nurmaganova and Book Hut

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References

• Andrews, Kristin. 2020. The Animal Mind: An Introduction to the Philosophy of Animal Cognition. New York: Routledge.
• Bekoff, Marc. Cognitive Ethology, “Take Three: Fascinating and Frustrating Questions about Animal Minds.” BioScience, 847-848, 2001.
• Bekoff, Marc. 2024. The Emotional Lives of Animals: A Leading Scientist Explores Animal Joy, Sorrow, and Empathy—and Why They Matter. Novato, CA: New World Library.
• Bekoff, Marc. Remarks from Jane Goodall Leadership Legacy Panel, Parliament of the World’s Religions (unpublished talk), April 2026.
• Griffin, Donald R. 1976. The Question of Animal Awareness. New York: Rockefeller University Press.
• Griffin, Donald R. 2001. Animal Minds: Beyond Cognition to Consciousness. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
• Ristau, Carolyn A. (2024) “Précis of: “Birds, Bats and Minds: Tales of a Revolutionary Scientist, Donald R. Griffin.” Animal Sentience 35(1).
• Yoon, Carol Kaesuk. 2003. “Donald R. Griffin, 88, Dies; Argued Animals Can Think.” New York Times, November 14, 2003.

Compassion in Action:

Given that animals are cognitive, sentient beings, what might you be willing to change in your daily life? Would it be what you eat, how you shop, or the way you think about the animals around you?

Lawrence Anthony, a South African conservationist and environmentalist, became known as the “Elephant Whisperer” through his work with a “rogue” herd of elephants at Thula Thula Private Game Reserve in Zululand. The elephants had been deemed a risk to people and property and were at risk of being destroyed. Their behavior reflected prior trauma, stress, displacement, and repeated conflict with humans. They had broken through barriers designed to protect both elephants and people, entered neighboring land, refused to accept control, charged humans, overturned a car, and killed a rhinoceros. They were placed at Thula Thula as part of a final rescue-and-management effort.

Anthony’s role was to change the way the elephants experienced humans so that human contact no longer automatically meant pressure, danger, or control. He spent long periods near them, using calm body language, quiet speech, consistent behavior, and patience. He avoided force that would have escalated their fear. That approach was unusual because wildlife management often relied on dominance-based direct intervention. Anthony did not tame them in a circus sense; he gave them repeated reasons to stop seeing him as a threat.

The matriarch was especially important in his work. Anthony focused much of his effort on her, since in elephant society the matriarch’s response strongly shapes the behavior of the rest of the herd. Anthony won the confidence of the individual whose judgment mattered most. Once she became less defensive and more accepting of him, the others followed her lead. After Anthony’s work with the elephants, the herd became a stable resident group at Thula Thula, no longer escaping and creating the conflict that had marked the herd for destruction.

Elephants are intelligent beings highly sensitive to changes in routine, sound, scent, and the presence or absence of familiar individuals. After Anthony died, reports say the herd embarked on a 12-hour journey to the edge of the preserve to Anthony’s home where they stayed for two days. It seems to be a striking display of elephant memory, social cohesion, and familiarity with and perhaps even affection for a person they had known for years.

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Lost Dog Action Plan

Do this first

1. Search your home and property. Check under beds, behind furniture, in closets, basements, garages, sheds, under porches, under decks, in shrubs, and in other small hiding spots.

2. Look in the immediate area. Walk your yard and the streets nearby. Call your dog calmly and listen for barking, whining, or movement. Bring a favorite treat or toy, but do not panic or shout.

3. Tell everyone in your household. Make sure every person in the home knows the dog is missing so everyone can help search.

Then do this

4. Contact the microchip company. If your dog is microchipped, report the dog missing right away and confirm that your phone number, address, and emergency contact information are current. Ask them to flag the dog as lost.

5. Search within a 1 - 2 mile radius. Walk or drive slowly through nearby streets. Ask neighbors to check their yards, porches, garages, sheds, crawl spaces, and security cameras. Leave your phone number and a recent photo with nearby residents.

6. Call shelters, animal control, vets, and police. Contact local shelters, rescue groups, animal control, and veterinary clinics as soon as possible. Visit shelters in person if you can, and keep checking back every day or every other day because a dog may not be logged right away, and few shelters hold animals beyond 72 hours.

7. Create a scent station. Put your worn clothing, your dog’s bed, blanket, or favorite toy outside near where the dog was last seen. Add a bowl of fresh water. Avoid leaving food out, since it can attract wildlife or other animals.

Keep spreading the word

8. Make highly visible, easily readable flyers (readable by people in a passing car). Use a clear, recent color photo, your phone number, the dog’s name, breed, color, size, date lost, and last known location. Post flyers on phone poles, at intersections, pet stores, vet offices, grocery stores, parks, apartment complexes, and community bulletin boards. Leave your address off the flyer.

9. Post online. Share the dog’s photo and details on social media, neighborhood apps, local community pages, and lost pet websites. These include Facebook, Nextdoor.com, local lost pet groups, and sites like PetcoLove Lost and PawBoost.com. Include the same information as your flyers and make posts public for maximum visibility.

10. Check lost-pet databases. Look through online lost-and-found pet listings and local shelter postings. Upload your dog’s information if the site allows it. Check these listings often because updates can happen quickly.

11. Use a humane trap if needed. If your dog is scared, injured, or avoiding people, a humane trap may help. You can often get one from your local animal shelter, rescue organization, or animal control office, and some pet supply stores or hardware stores may also sell or rent them. Place it in a quiet area near where the dog was last seen and add familiar-smelling items such as a blanket or clothing. Check the trap frequently and use one sized properly for your dog.

12. Keep searching every day. Repeat the search, shelter visits, and online checks. Ask neighbors and local walkers to keep watching. Many dogs are found after several days, so persistence matters.

If you spot your dog

Do not chase the dog. Stay calm, crouch down, look away slightly, and speak softly. Use familiar words and let the dog come to you if possible.

Prevent this next time

Check fencing, gates, doors, and latches once your dog is home. Keep ID tags on the collar, keep the microchip information updated, and practice recall regularly. A GPS collar can also help for dogs that escape easily.

Photo courtesy of Michal Mikulec on Unsplash

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You’ve probably seen a dog hang its head after chewing your shoe, or your cat curling up next to you when you’re sad. But do animals truly feel emotions like joy, fear, or grief?

Numerous studies show emotions aren’t just human—they’re a mix of brain activity, behavior, and conscious feelings in many species. Emotions involve physical changes (like a racing heart), behavior (like a smile, a wagging tail), brain signals, thoughts, and feelings (that inner “yay!” or “oh no”). Humans report feelings easily. Animals can’t use words to definitively convey what they’re feeling, but their brains light up like ours during emotional moments. For animals, scientists look for brain patterns tied to awareness—ones that appear when animals make complex decisions beyond simple reflex. Research suggests that mammals, birds, and many more species experience emotions consciously, and this should have implications for how humans treat other living beings.

Animal Examples

Dogs showing mood-based choices: Dogs housed in enriched rooms (toys, social time) eagerly approach sounds that sometimes predict treats (optimistic). Dogs in plain kennels hesitate more (pessimistic). Scientists determine “happy” vs. “wary” by housing conditions and baseline behavior. Mood literally changes how dogs gamble on uncertainty.

Chimpanzees consoling each other: After fights, chimps embrace and groom the loser (not the winner), cutting stress hormones. This targeted care mirrors human empathy—suggesting they feel others’ distress.

Elephants mourning family: Wild elephants gently touch and linger over skeletons of dead relatives (even years later), ignoring the bones of strangers. This selective behavior shows emotional memory, not instinct.

Crows helping companions: Crows see a trapped friend and use tools to free them instead of eating available food. This costly choice suggests felt concern, like human friendship. When food is right there but they prioritize rescue, it shows that crows’ emotional bonds override immediate survival needs.

Why It Matters

Real emotions mean real suffering. Beyond factory farms and barren cages, we trap wildlife in roadside zoos, abandon pets to streets, poison rats in agony, test cosmetics on rabbits’ eyes, and hunt for sport while they feel terror. Humane care literally makes animals feel optimistic, and true compassion demands we rethink every human-animal interaction. Pets, farm animals, wildlife, lab subjects, even “pests”—all deserve recognition as emotional beings. Every choice—from what we buy, to how we eat, to how we vote, to what we speak up about—carries ethical weight.

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Compassion in Action

Ask: “What’s causing my pet’s stress signals?”
• Separation whine? Puzzle feeder pre-departure
• Fireworks anxiety? White noise machine
• Pacing cat? Extra window perch
Science shows enriched environments create optimistic cognitive bias. You’re literally making them feel hopeful.

Sources:
• New York Declaration on Animal Consciousness (2024)
• Bekoff, The Emotional Lives of Animals (revised) (2024)
• Paul et al., “Comparative Science of Emotion,” Neurosci. Biobehav. Rev. 108 (2020): 749–70
• Mendl et al., “Cognitive Bias,” Trends Cogn. Sci. 14 (2010): 403–10
de Waal and Andrews, “Animal Compassion,” Neurosci. Biobehav. Rev. 82 (2017): 71–79

Keeping cats indoors dramatically reduces the risk of injury, death, illness, and getting lost—and it does not diminish their quality of life. But even the most careful households can have close calls. Doors get left open. Screens fail. Cats slip out. When that happens, what you do in the first hours matters.

Most cats are found within a 1/3-mile (500-meter) radius—about 15 to 17 houses—from their point of escape. A physical search significantly increases the likelihood of finding them. Cats allowed outside unsupervised tend to travel longer distances compared with indoor-only cats.

How to Find Your Lost Cat

Start with a Close, Physical Search

• Search your home carefully first—cats often hide in small, quiet spaces: closets, cupboards, basements, behind appliances, under beds, inside laundry areas, or within furniture.

• Then move outside and check your yard, sheds, and nearby properties. Look under decks, bushes, porches, and parked cars.

• Call the cat’s name calmly.

• Ask neighbors to check sheds, garages, and outbuildings. Some cats are found trapped in enclosed spaces.

• At the usual feeding time (so the cat recognizes the pattern), use food sounds like opening a can or shaking treats, put out food and water, and then stand nearby and quietly watch; the cat may come out when it feels safe.

• Search at night or early morning when it’s quiet. Call your cat, and then pause and repeat, allowing enough time for the cat to hear you and come toward your voice. Focus your efforts within at least a 1/3-mile radius.

Alert Your Neighborhood Fast

• Post a clear photo, description, and your phone number online:

  • Nextdoor.com

  • Local Facebook group

  • PawBoost.com

  • https://24petconnect.com

  • https://lostmykitty.com

  • http://thecenterforlostpets.org

  • https://petcolove.org/lost/

  • https://pawmaw.com

  • ring.com/neighbors

  • craiglist.com

  • local shelter online posts

• Create simple, highly visible flyers with a large photo and bold phone number. Post them on phone poles and signposts throughout at least a 1/3-mile radius.

• Rubberband flyers directly on neighbors’ doors, place them in mailboxes, or hand them out when possible.

Use Scent to Draw Them Back

• Put out strong-smelling food like tuna along with fresh water.

• Leave out unwashed bedding, worn clothing, or a favorite toy.

• Place a small amount of used litter outside.

Contact Local Support

• Contact local shelters and rescue groups.

• Call nearby veterinary clinics.

• Report your cat missing to your microchip company and confirm your contact details are current.

Keep in Mind

• Indoor-only cats usually hide very close and stay silent.

• Outdoor cats may roam farther but often return when it’s quiet.

• Repeat your search daily—especially at dawn and dusk.

• Don’t give up. Re-post online, refresh flyers regularly, search, and re-contact shelters, vets, etc.

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Photograph courtesy of Daria Shatova on Unsplash

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A dog waiting at the door for his owner’s return can be easy to explain away. Maybe he heard the car with his acute hearing. Maybe he knew the owner’s routine. Maybe someone in the house gave off a cue without realizing it.

But some of Rupert Sheldrake’s most discussed dog experiments with a dog named Jaytee were designed to reduce exactly those explanations. In these blinded “return-anticipating” trials, the owner returned at irregular times, and the people at home were not told when the returns would occur. If no one in the house knew the timing, then the dog could not simply be responding to an obvious or subtle human signal (which dogs are very good at doing).

In these 12 randomized, continuously videotaped trials (there were other trials where the test design was not rigorous), Jaytee’s behavior at the window was striking. During the periods when the owner was away—varying from two to four hours—Jaytee was at the window about 4% of the time. When the owner was on her way home, but still more than several kilometers away, Jaytee was at the window 55% of the time—a difference Sheldrake reported as highly statistically significant (p < 0.0001).

In Sheldrake’s reports, dogs like Jaytee and, later, Kane moved to a window or door when the owner was on the way home, even when the return was not part of a fixed schedule. The claim is not that the dogs were always right, or that the studies settled the question forever. They did not. But the pattern was intriguing enough to be tested, videotaped, and argued over.

The strongest version of the claim is not that dogs are magical or psychic. It is more modest, and in some ways more puzzling: when the usual explanations are stripped away, some dogs still seem to behave as if they know something they should not know. Not all the time, not in every trial, but enough to make people think twice.

Scientists remain divided. Skeptics point out that dogs have extraordinary senses and may detect subtle environmental changes we miss. That’s a fair objection. Yet the blinded, irregular-return trials were designed to challenge those ordinary explanations. If the people in the house truly did not know when the owner was coming home, then the simplest social cue is unlikely.

So the question remains open, but in a more focused form: it’s not whether dogs are remarkable—we already know they are—but whether, under tightly limited conditions, some of them can anticipate an owner’s return in a way that routine and cues alone cannot fully explain. That’s the puzzle these trials invite us to sit with.

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Photo by Pedro Correia on Unsplash

I confess that I’m almost never satisfied with what I do to help ease animal suffering. So much more can be done, and I often find myself wondering: at what point can I say, there—that’s good enough for now? For every animal I rescue, care for, or arrange help for, there are millions of others who need it. I can understand the urge to throw up one’s hands in defeat, because cruelty by humans is everywhere—institutionalized abuse, neglect, harmful ignorance, and intentional harm. Its pervasiveness can inure us to it, allowing us to more or less ignore it.

I admit to feeling something akin to envy (but not necessarily respect) for people who seem oblivious to animal suffering. It is understandable that one might turn away from it because of the perspective, what can only one person do? The answer, I think, is probably a lot more than you realize, without wholly upending your life. For 20 ways to make a difference, see the “Compassion in Action” section below.

I struggle with finding some degree of peace with what I actually do. The issue, as I see it, is that because the need is vast, the sense that it’s never enough is pretty much true. I can get stuck in that loop. The question for me becomes how to find balance: I want to extend a bit what I actually do, and I want to take some quiet satisfaction in knowing that what I do helps, rather than being crushed by the sheer enormity of the need.

I find this anonymous quote powerful: “Saving one animal doesn’t change the world, but the world changes for that one animal.”

Those of you who honor and love animals: I would love to hear your thoughts in the “Leave a comment” section, below, on how you navigate this issue.

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Compassion in Action

20 Easy Things Anyone Can Do to Reduce Animal Suffering

You don’t need to “save all of them” to make a real difference. Small, consistent actions from ordinary people can quietly reshape how animals live in this world. Here are 20 simple things anyone can do, now.

1. Adopt from a shelter or rescue first.
Every time someone chooses adoption over a breeder or pet store, they pull a life out of the shelter system and reduce demand for mass breeding operations.

2. Spay or neuter your pets.
Routine surgery prevents unplanned litters, eases pressure on shelters, and often improves pets’ health and behavior.

3. Care for community animals humanely.
If you see stray cats or dogs, provide clean water and appropriate food, and connect them with local TNR or rescue groups instead of ignoring them or shooing them away.

4. Speak up when you see neglect or abuse.
If you witness serious cruelty or clearly unsafe conditions, report it to local animal‑control or humane investigators; early intervention can stop escalation.

5. Buy cruelty‑free and humane‑certified products.
Choose household and cosmetic brands that avoid animal testing and, where possible, look for certifications that signal higher welfare standards.

6. Have a bird feeder or birdbath.
A simple source of water or supplemental food can sustain birds and small wildlife through harsh seasons, especially in urban or suburban areas. Place birdbaths on the ground so that non-flying animals can reach the water as well.

7. Plant native, wildlife‑friendly plants.
Even a small yard or planter full of native flowers and shrubs supports pollinators, birds, and small mammals with almost no extra effort.

8. Cut back on animal‑product consumption.
Shifting even a few meals a week toward plant‑based options lowers demand for factory‑farming systems that cause massive suffering.

9. Support ethical brands and sanctuaries.
When you buy pet products, choose companies that donate to animal‑welfare groups or help fund sanctuaries and rescue work.

10. Donate supplies or money monthly to a shelter.
Shelters always need food, towels, blankets, and litter; even a small recurring donation can free up staff time and resources for direct care.

11. Foster an animal when you can.
Short‑term fostering gives traumatized or overcrowded animals a calmer home, improves their chances of adoption, and opens up kennel space for others.

12. Volunteer a few hours a month.
Cleaning, walking dogs, socializing shy cats, or helping with admin can dramatically stretch a small shelter’s capacity.

13. Organize a small donation drive.
Consider turning birthdays, holidays, or social events into opportunities to collect pet‑food, toys, or supplies for a local shelter.

14. Share adoptable‑animal posts online.
One shared shelter post can connect an animal with the right home far faster than waiting passively.

15. Talk kindly and clearly about responsible pet‑ownership.
Gently share basics (vet care, spaying/neutering, enrichment, not “gifting” live animals) with friends and family; this can prevent future relinquishment and surrender.

16. Support humane‑education programs.
Donate to, volunteer with, or promote school and community programs that teach children empathy toward animals and the impact of our choices.

17. Engage with local animal‑protection laws.
Sign petitions, attend town meetings, or contact officials to support stronger anti‑cruelty laws, community‑cat programs, and animal‑shelter funding.

18. Avoid products and experiences that exploit animals.
Skip exotic‑leather fashion, wildlife‑derived medicines, and entertainment that relies on stressed or captive animals (circuses, exploitative “photo” ops, etc.).

19. Reduce litter and keep wildlife areas clean.
Picking up trash in parks or along trails keeps plastic and debris out of animals’ mouths and paws and helps ecosystems stay safer.

20. Design your outdoor space with wildlife in mind.
Use native plants, retain unmowed edges, and limit harsh outdoor lighting to help birds, insects, and small mammals survive while minimizing conflict.

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Photos courtesy of Anastasija Puskas, Unsplash and Jafetbyrne Photos