I was running errands at some point around the
holidays when I happened to tune in to a radio segment about tarantulas. This
is not a subject I’ve ever had any interest in, and I would normally have
changed the station at once, but the topic wasn’t immediately clear to me. A
woman was describing a furry creature with delicate, pink-tipped feet. I tried
to guess the animal, factoring in her obvious admiration. I was hindered by the
detail of her holding it in her palm. When one of the hosts of the show
expressed his disbelief that a tarantula could be charming, I actually
recoiled. My hand, which had been hovering near the radio buttons, yanked back
as if a huge spider might suddenly appear there. Who was this
lunatic? In short order, I learned that the woman speaking was naturalist and author
Sy Montgomery, who has been described by The Boston Globe as,
“Part Indiana Jones and part Emily Dickinson.”
Don’t get me wrong – I’m no slouch when it comes to
loving animals. During my childhood summers, I would prowl the adjacent
properties of my grandmother and aunt in rural New Hampshire, which hosted a
menagerie of ponies, goats, cats and various breeds of dogs. Wildlife wandered
through the profusion of flowers and the acres of trees that graced that happy
place. The aunt encouraged my fascination with horses by gifting me books like
Marguerite Henry’s Born to Trot and My Friend Flicka by Mary O’Hara, which I followed
with others, from Anna Sewell’s Black Beauty to James
Herriot’s All Creatures Great and Small. My grandmother provided
art supplied with which I would depict the pony I planned to have one day. An
array of pets over the years included a turtle, fish, hermit crab and dog, but I
never did get that pony.
I learned that the aforementioned spider was one of
the baker’s dozen of characters featured in Sy Montgomery’s latest book: How
to be a Good Creature: a Memoir in Thirteen Animals. The collection
includes a sampling of Montgomery’s signature adventures with the strange
inhabitants of exotic locales, including her first such journey. She recounts
that experience in Australia tracking a trio of emus, where she slips into a
level of engagement reminiscent of Jane Goodall with her chimps; she shuns the
role of observer in favor of participant in order to more fully know her
subjects, noting their different personalities and behaviors. However she
doesn’t write solely about exotic creatures. She also shares stories about the
animals she has rescued, from a runt piglet to several dogs. She begins with her
childhood Scottish Terrier, Molly, and ends with a half blind Border Collie named
Thurber. Montgomery writes with unapologetic passion and isn’t afraid to show
the fierce kind of love she has for animals.
She credits all of the animals in her life with being her teachers,
which is an outlook that I share.
As an adult, I’ve had the privilege of caring for
three retired racing greyhounds. The first one my husband and I adopted was a
sleek brindle we named Abby. She was beautiful, smart, and a social butterfly
around people, but she could’ve taken or left other dogs. Her “roo” (the
howling noise favored by this generally quiet breed) was deep and beautiful,
and could perhaps have been dubbed into a movie as the distant cry of a
wolf. Having the good fortune to be entrusted with this special dog made
both of us feel like we’d won some sort of cosmic lottery. Three months after
she came to us, I received unrelated, terrible news: my mother was diagnosed
with ovarian cancer. Over the next two-and-a-half years while she fought for
her life, Abby was by my side as I navigated moments of pain, despair, and
(false) hope. When my mother died, it was Abby who consoled me. Perched on the
couch next to me with her chin slung over my leg, she did something no person
could do: bear witness to a torrent of tears without feeling the need to
smother it with words. The gratitude I felt for this gift was immeasurable. It
was also short-lived. Five months later, Abby was also diagnosed with
untreatable cancer. This time there was no silent witness to my pain. It was
the moment when I realized how much I had relied on my friend. I was
bereft. Then slowly, with time, I was able to find a new narrative in these events.
Abby arrived before the darkest time in my life, and she stayed by my side
throughout it. All I have to do is imagine that time without her presence to
feel lucky all over again.
I had expected to read the memoir of an animal
lover. What I actually found when I read this book was much more than the title
promised. While it does recount events from Sy Montgomery’s life through a
series of vignettes about different animals she has known, her own story is
interwoven with those of the animals so deftly that in movie parlance she would
be just one of an ensemble cast. She lives her message. I couldn’t stop reading
this book, which is a testament to Montgomery’s way with words (who knew reading
about octopi could be so compelling?) She also has a way of writing about
connecting with wild creatures that makes it seem not that odd an event.
Sy Montgomery is the author of dozens of books for
both children and adults. Those who are hungry for more can check out The
Good Good Pig: The Extraordinary Life of Christopher Hogwood or The
Soul of an Octopus: A Surprising Exploration into the Wonder of Consciousness. If you’re looking to branch out,
Montgomery’s recommendations include: My Life with the Chimpanzees by
Jane Goodall, Gorillas in the Mist by Diane Fossey and Farley Mowat’s Never
Cry Wolf.
