War & Peace: creating peace in a time of war
My badge read: Lisa: Experienced Cat Socializer
It had paw print stickers all over it.
I expected to walk dogs when I started volunteering once a week at the no-kill animal shelter. I saw myself as firmly Team Dog. But they needed help with the cats so I went to help with the cats.
I soon found that I had a knack with the "difficult" cats. The ones who take a chunk out of your arm if you make eye contact. The abused, traumatized, aggressive felines. For whatever reason, I connect with the cats no one else can get near. I can take the wild-eyed maniacs and turn them into the cuddly lap sitters that everyone wants to take home.
I might not have a long list of marketable skills - but Asshole Cat Whisperer goes right to the top.
One day, after finishing my shift whispering to the asshole cats, I was leaving through the lobby of the animal rescue center. There was an older gentleman standing at the front desk, holding a tattered shoebox, shaking his head vehemently.
"No, I can't, I don’t have time, I have to go back to work."
I walked over to eavesdrop, leaning on a nearby wall and pretending to read a text.
The woman behind the desk clearly felt bad, but she said she didn’t have another option for him.
"I’m sorry, sir, because he is wild, we can't legally take him. He needs to go to the wildlife rescue center. It's more than an hour away, so you need to take him because we don’t have anyone who can do it."
The man looked frustrated as he stared down at the box in his hands.
"What's in there?" I piped up.
He turned to me. "It's a bird. I found him stuck to a glue trap. He's okay, I think, but he's got glue all over his feet so he can't stand."
He opened the shoebox for me. A tiny reddish-brown wren lay on his side, breathing hard, but breathing. His feet were a tight, sticky ball of toes. When the bird saw us, he began to flap and flop around. We quickly closed the lid.
The man looked at me. "I found him in that glue trap and I couldn't just leave him there. I couldn't stand to see him suffer. I was a sergeant in Vietnam...I've seen enough suffering. I couldn't leave him there."
I teared up and agreed that I was also anti-suffering. Of course, I'd drive the bird to the wildlife center. The man introduced himself and held my hand with both of his.
"You can call me Sarge."
We needed to put the wren in a sturdier box for transport but the front desk woman reiterated the rules - she could not legally touch the bird.
"Can I legally touch the bird?" I asked.
"No."
"Okay. Umm. Can you just close your eyes for a second?"
Somehow, the wren ended up in a sturdier box and that box went in my passenger seat.
I drove the hour or so on windy country roads. The shelter had called ahead, so when the bird and I arrived at the rescue center, they were waiting for us.
"Is that our wren?" A cheerful volunteer greeted me.
"Yes, he's a little feisty," I said. I explained that he had been flopping around in the box but he seemed to calm down when I played Death Cab for Cutie. I figured that might be helpful information for them.
They took him back to unglue his feet and reported that he was in good shape, that the bird would stay briefly for observation and then be released.
I drove home with an empty box and a full heart. I played more Death Cab for Cutie.
Sarge was right. Whatever you can do to reduce suffering in even the smallest way matters. In the face of war and a pandemic and environmental destruction and systemic racism and a million other things, it can feel like it’s all too much. We can get mired in apathy, feeling that the little things are overshadowed by the enormity of the pain.
But there are millions of people doing tiny, everyday things to stop the suffering and create more peace in the world. Someone took glue off tiny wren toes. Someone else held open a door for somebody who was carrying groceries. Or texted just to check in after that doctor's appointment. Or donated $10 to a cause they believe in. Or decided to not be the first one to let go of a hug. Each individual thing might seem like nothing.
But it's not nothing.
A moment of compassion is everything.
Putting a seatbelt around a box and driving a couple of hours wasn't a big deal, but it felt amazing. I did something tangible to make the world better - for one bird, anyway. And when life feels overwhelming and the challenges feel insurmountable, the small wins become major triumphs. That ripples out.
Sarge and I worked together and in a teeny-tiny wren-sized way, we helped stopped the suffering.