The Animals We Leave Behind
Exploring creativity, compassion, and the small everyday wonders that make life meaningful.
When we were preparing to move from our home in Tiverton this past summer, one of the things I felt most regretful about was leaving the animals.
We had nearly an acre of land in our backyard—quiet, green, and surprisingly alive with visitors. Over the five years we lived there, our yard became a little refuge of its own: an occasional fox slipping like a shadow along the tree line, wild turkeys gobbling in unison one morning, deer moving with that soft, careful grace that always stopped me in my tracks. There were woodchucks, rabbits, an acrobat troupe of squirrels, and chipmunks who darted between stones as if late for meetings.
And the birds—oh, the birds. Goldfinches that looked like flying sunbeams. Blue jays with their bossy confidence. Cardinals glowing like tiny lanterns in winter. And the hummingbirds—those tiny miracles—who arrived each summer like clockwork. My husband kept their feeders filled with nectar, and the regular seed feeders stuffed almost daily.
Each spring, a pair of barn swallows returned to the rafters of our front porch to lay their eggs. (It was messy, yes, but we simply cleaned it up at the end of the season.) I was always amazed by the parents' dedication. At night, they perched along the upper window ledge, watchful sentries guarding their fragile nest. Seeing their silhouettes in the dusk light warmed something deep inside me.
Over time, I developed my own quiet rituals with our visitors. Each morning I placed apples on an old tree stump behind our fence for the deer, and baby carrots for the rabbits. I felt a small thrill whenever I stepped outside and saw that yesterday’s offerings were gone. When I began composting, I set aside scraps—carrots, lettuce, little odds and ends—and placed them where the woodchucks and rabbits roamed. It became a simple exchange between me and the land, one that made me feel connected to something larger and simpler.
Even though several months have passed since our move, I still think about those animals. I wonder if the new owners continue the small offerings of food and attention. I remind myself that these are wild creatures—they know how to survive, how to forage, how to adapt. But I’d be lying if I said the guilt doesn’t tug at me now and then. How did they feel when the steady supply of treats suddenly stopped? I hope, truly, that they adjusted quickly.
“It became a simple exchange between me and the land, one that made me feel connected to something larger and simpler.”
That feeling is something I’m still learning how to hold — with gratitude, and with care.
In our new home in Connecticut, we’ll likely have a similar landscape—full of visitors whose rhythms we will gradually come to know. But this time, I think I’ll keep my offerings occasional rather than daily. Perhaps that will make it less abrupt when our time there eventually comes to an end.
🕊️ Showing Compassion for Animals Every Day
Not all acts of compassion are grand. Most are small—quiet choices that come from awareness, gentleness, and empathy. Here are a few ways we can be kinder to the animals who share our world, whether wild or domesticated:
1. Brake for the squirrels (and everyone else).
It breaks my heart to see a squirrel or deer who didn’t quite make it across the road in time. Slowing down, staying alert, and remembering that tiny beings dart out unpredictably can save lives. Deer are especially vulnerable at dawn and dusk.
2. Please don’t leave pets outside in the cold (or heat).
It seems obvious, but sadly, it still needs to be said. And just as importantly: when dogs bark—especially repeatedly—check on them. Acknowledge them. They’re communicating something, even if it’s just “I’m lonely,” “I’m cold,” or “I’m scared.” Since moving to an apartment community, I’ve struggled with how often barking goes unaddressed.
3. Support wildlife with safe, species-appropriate foods.
Feeding animals isn’t always necessary—and in some cases it must be done cautiously—but offering water in hot weather, planting native shrubs or flowers, or providing birdseed in winter can make a real difference.
4. Choose cruelty-free products.
Whether it’s shampoo, household cleaners, or cosmetics, opting for brands that don’t test on animals helps reduce suffering in a tangible way.
5. Be mindful of wildlife habitats.
Leaving leaf piles in autumn, avoiding mowing down wildflowers, preserving brushy areas, and checking under your car hood on cold days (cats love warm engines!) are tiny kindnesses with a surprisingly big impact.
6. Advocate gently.
Kindness grows when shared. If you see someone unintentionally causing harm—a bird feeder hung too low, a dog left out in freezing temps—you can often create change simply by offering information with compassion rather than judgment.
If this resonates with you, I’d love for you to follow along and see where this journey leads.