(Originally appeared in Sense and Psychotherapy, Spring 2004)

While running errands with my son, one of our favorite places to stop is a small pet store nearby. They have a few fish, a couple of turtles and a handful of snakes, but the area we are most drawn to is the room filled with colorful, noisy, talkative birds. We marvel at the bright feathers and the diversity of songs as we wander from cage to cage. Invariably, as we leave we talk about “Birdie”, the small green parakeet we had for several years whose demise was as singular as his arrival had been.

I found Birdie one Sunday morning while out on a run. I initially passed him by, and immediately felt guilty. I vowed I’d pick him up if he was still hopping around the vacant lot on my return. I knew he’d end up as cat food if I couldn’t catch him and was amazed when I found him again. I was able to somehow usher him into a small paper bag lying amongst the garbage and shards of glass. Years later, he returned to the wild after my young son unwittingly left the cage open while the nearby door stood wide open. For hours, we tried unsuccessfully to coax him out of the mulberry tree next door.

At our peak, we had four cats and a parakeet. Each one had its own distinct personality which elicited different things from each of us. When our big white cat, Spike, was a kitten, he used to curl up under me while I squatted next to my garden beds. Even after he grew too big to fit under me, he’d still follow me around like a faithful hound as a I puttered about the yard.

Unfortunately, over the course of just a few years, one by one, we had to say good-bye to all our beloved pets. I still get teary-eyed thinking about those final visits to the vet. Carrying their small, lifeless bodies home, we tearfully pondered where would be the best place to bury them.

At this point, our pet population is limited to Ginger and Miss Emily, my son’s adored guinea pigs. And (if we stretch the definition of “pet”) an extremely fast lizard that wandered in one day when we left the front door open. Unfortunately it doesn’t seem to understand that we’re trying to help it, on the rare occasions when we do see it and attempt to return it to the wilds of the flower beds.

In my fantasies, I live in a big house overflowing with cats, dogs and birds wandering amongst the plants. I long to stroke the soft fur of a purring cat, to be greeted by an eager pup, and to look into the eyes of an adoring friend. I’m waiting for the time when our life slows down enough to allow me to give the necessary time and attention to a pet. I know having pets is a big responsibility and I want to be able to provide the type of environment that is most conducive to their welfare. In the meantime, I content myself with visits to the pet store.