While writing The Pond Beyond the Forest, I cut this chapter—“Animals I’ve Loved”—because it was purely anecdotal and didn’t advance the main story. But these animals helped me survive, so their stories deserve sharing. Enjoy these heartwarming anecdotes, though at times heart-wrenching, about the creatures who shaped my heart, bringing unconditional love and solace amid hardship. 🐒🐥🦜🐶
Circa 1960s ~ early 80s:
I might have been four years old when a Japanese macaque monkey came to live in our house. It was uncommon to have a pet monkey in Japan then. I can’t even recall its name. My mother told me later on that I was the one who'd insisted on bringing it home from the Isetan department store.
That this monkey didn’t make a good pet is an understatement. In fact, I was terrified of it. I vaguely remember it being chained to the main post of the top staircase landing, and every time I walked by, it would jump right up and cling to me so tightly that I had to scream for help. And by the time rescue arrived, I’d already been scratched on my face, arms, and legs. Back then we were still living in the house attached to my father's hospital, so there must have been a nurse (or at least someone) staying with me at all times if my mother or the housekeeper wasn't present. But the monkey was quicker to act than anyone else.
The monkey didn’t last long. Its life was cut short after it developed terrible diarrhea from consuming milk (or so I was told). I had burst into tears when it died, for any death was traumatic for me as a young child, but I got over it rather quickly and didn’t lose any sleep. That much I can remember. But what seemed even crazier than having a pet monkey to begin with was that someone in the family (perhaps my father) came up with the idea of stuffing this poor dead monkey to keep it around as a decoration. I’d already had enough scary experiences with this monkey while it was alive, but now even in death it continued to haunt me, with a contorted red face that forever captured all of the pains and agonies it had suffered. I’d hold my breath and close my eyes as I quickly walked past. Luckily, some family friend offered to take it off our hands. Maybe my parents finally realized it was a good thing to give away since it so frightened me.
But I still loved small fuzzy animals. During upper elementary school and junior high, I'd call for a taxi on my own and request rides to and from pet stores. With no cash, all I had to say was, “Please charge this to my father’s business account,” and that took care of everything, taxi fare and supplies for my new pet birds, hamsters, rabbits, and even a squirrel.
Of all those animals I raised (or tried to raise), the most memorable are the baby birds and the chicks, though, lamentably, there were a few mishaps along the way due to lack of supervision. I first raised a parakeet, Pii-chan, from a baby when I was eight or nine. Using the tip of a chopstick, I fed her millet that was soaked in water overnight. She grew attached to me, and would happily sit on my shoulder or head, keeping me company while I did homework. Being tired from the long commute and too much homework, I often fell asleep on the tatami floor with Pii-chan. Then one late afternoon, she must have crawled under my back, because when I woke up, I found the lifeless bird squashed underneath me. I was grief-stricken and cried uncontrollably. The same thing happened again with a lovebird named Chii-chan, which totally devastated me. The first time it happened, I thought it had been a fluke and would never happen again, so this came as a real shock. When my mother saw me sobbing, holding the lifeless bird in the palm of my hand, she said angrily, ”If you keep killing animals like that, they’ll come back as ghosts and haunt you!"
Mom was quite superstitious even back then, and although this was perhaps meant to be merely a caution, not intentional scaremongering, it was absolutely the wrong thing to say to a child who was already afraid of darkness and ghosts. I cried myself to sleep that night. She was irked by my sobbing, but did nothing to console me.
Still, I brought home chicks, not once but twice. The first time, when I was in fourth or fifth grade, things did not go so well. In an attempt to keep the batch of chicks warm, I put them inside a cardboard box, and then slid it under the kotatsu (a Japanese table with a built-in heater underneath the top and covered by a thick quilt for winter use), but alas, it got too hot and killed them. I felt devastated and tremendously guilty for making such a stupid mistake. With a heavy heart, I buried them in the backyard, and cried while offering them incense and flowers.
Determined to raise chicks again when I was in the seventh or eighth grade, I bought three chicks with my allowance from a street vendor on the way back from school. And this time around I used my electric blanket to keep them warm (at the lowest temperature setting). I shared my bed and slept together with them at the foot of my bed between the electric blanket and comforter.
This surprisingly worked, and I’d wake up every morning to their cheerful chirping as I delicately peeled off the bottom edge of my comforter. "Chirp, chirp, chirp," they'd greet me as if I were their mother, and that made me feel warm and happy. Although my electric blanket was totally ruined from their droppings, it was a small price to pay for the remarkable feat I’d managed to pull off. I proudly shared with friends and acquaintances my success story of growing the chicks into healthy, happy chickens. The chickens stayed in a cardboard box while I was at school, but I took them out as soon as I came home. They followed me around the house, and liked lying down on the floor with their eyes closed when I gently stroked them on their heads and necks.
I kept them in the house for a while, but eventually had to graduate them to an outside cage. Soon they started to make disturbing screaming noises at around 4:30 a.m. every morning and annoyed our neighbors. They never seemed to have learned to squawk like regular chickens with no role model to pattern after. We had to find a new owner, and luckily my dad’s acquaintance, a shoe repairman, happily adopted them.
I eventually stopped raising baby animals as I became busier with schoolwork. But I always had a dog or two beside me, who continued to not only comfort me, but also teach me unconditional love. Of all the dogs I'd had, the particularly memorable are Bubu, a Sheltie, and Chappy, a Pomeranian. Although Bubu was an outside dog, I often let him in to play with Chappy since they got along so well. They were empathic dogs who could read my emotions, especially when I felt sad, lonely or frightened. Chappy often curled up on my lap and Bubu snuggled by my foot while I sat at my desk, poring over my lessons, and their presence calmed my anxiety as I struggled, overwhelmed with schoolwork.
#TraumaMemoir #AnimalsILove #OuttakeChapter #PetStories