by Tom Shafer
April 9, 2020
See, made you look – er, and read.
Who can’t resist a title like “Baby Cow Love”?
So, I’m sitting here in my office watching it snow while word-processing this little narrative. Yes, on April 9th it’s snowing. On average, our last day of measurable snowfall here is March 29, so I guess we aren’t that far from the norm. And, the latest day EVER for measurable snow (at half an inch) was on May 9, 1923. So I shouldn’t be completely surprised if we see the white stuff again.
And, it hasn’t been a very snowy winter – but frankly, I think most of us would have preferred to see more because it has been a very, very, very gray, overcast season. I’m sure the National Weather Service gathers and releases such data (gray days), but I lived every single one of them so I don’t need to know the actual count. It might depress me even more.
But I’m not here to give an update on Dayton’s meteorological statistics or provide an assessment of my mental health – though candidly it’s not too bad. I’m really here to talk about baby cows, and really just one baby cow.
So last evening I caught a brief window in our ongoing inclement weather to slip into the hot tub before another round of snow showers/sleet moved through the area. As the clouds were quickly scuttling by, I spied a few overhead stars, and even the Big Dipper made an appearance – actually several appearances as the scattered clouds flitted by. Off in the distance, to the north, I could hear an eastern screech owl trilling, and its call was answered by not one, but two other owls, another screech to the south by the Little Miami River, and a barred owl somewhere to the east. These three have been communicating for a few weeks now, each night from different locations but always in this configuration of north, south, and east. I do hope it continues into late spring and beyond. I also hope that Eso, our friendly screech owl, takes up residence in the woods this summer – as he typically does.
But as usual, I digress, because I’m supposed to be relating an anecdote about baby cows – er, a baby cow. And technically, it should be called a calf, but baby cow sounds so much more adorable. Anyway, back in my hot tub, as I was soaking a day’s work and worry away, off to my east at perhaps four or five hundred yards, I heard a single baby cow yelling very loudly at anyone who would listen – which would be anyone awake within about a mile!
In the small plat where I live, I am surrounded (at least 330°) by farms and farmland, the other thirty percent held down by the Little Miami River – and yet another farm beyond it. So hearing cows and calves throughout the day and night is not an uncommon event. But the plaintive screams of this single youngster were piercing on this very quiet evening. He or she continued his urgent cries until abruptly it all came to an end.
I know, and I assume you know as well, what brought silence back to my sleepy countryside: the calf received the attention he or she was coveting. Hunger may have been an issue, or uncomfortable separation. Or perhaps the calf simply desired affection and, dare I say, love.
Much research prior to the 1960s dismissed the idea that animals experience and display the complicated emotion of love – and some scientists today still retain and promulgate the idea. But research compiled and delineated in the last twenty years has flipped that old paradigm. Perhaps some of this ambiguity stems from the given working definition of “love.”
If “love” is defined as “an intense feeling of deep affection” (according to Oxford Languages), then neuroscience suggests that many animals possess the qualities necessary for them to experience it. Once attributed to humans exclusively, the “cuddle hormone” oxytocin and the “desire hormone” dopamine have been observed in the “loving” actions of animals ranging from cats and dogs to voles and tortoises to coyotes and lions. And proof isn’t relegated to the just observable. Much evidence has been compiled through humane clinical research on both voles and dogs (and other animals) through the use of MRIs and lab workups (both blood and urine). Even hardcore skeptics acknowledge and recognize the compelling data coming from these studies.
Anyway, having lived with at least nineteen cats, two dogs, and several gerbils and hermit crabs, I don’t need to study the research on whether animals experience, reveal, and receive love – because they clearly do. I have my own incidents and encounters with cats, some of them daily, to enhance the scientific inquiry. From Freckles, an inheritance from my father-in-law Richard, a noted non-lap cat, who wouldn’t budge from my abdomen for many days after a life-threatening colon rupture and repair back in 2015. I will always refer to her as my healing cat. To Luna, our newest and youngest outdoor cat, who loves belly rubbings more than food or even life itself. The moment she sees me, she immediately plops herself on the ground (in snow, mud, or rain), rolls over onto her back, and waits impatiently for the addictive, curative powers of my hand – all the while purring, wiggling, and “kissing” said hand with her cheeks. And then to all of our cats, both indoor and outdoor, who run to greet us after separation, rubbing on our legs, purring loudly, coveting the attention and affection that they desire – not unlike young human children when their parents return after being away.
For the skeptical scientist out there, I will merely refer you to a couple of studies that might stir your brain juices: Animal Emotions: Exploring Passionate Natures: Current Interdisciplinary Research Provides Compelling Evidence that Many Animals Experience such Emotions as Joy, Fear, Love, Despair, and Grief—We Are Not Alone by researcher Marc Bekoff, first published in BioScience magazine; and The Role of Oxytocin in the Dog–Owner Relationship by researchers Sarah Marshall-Pescini, Franka S. Schaebs, Alina Gaugg, Anne Meinert, Tobias Deschner, and Friederike Range, first published in NIH’s National Library of Medicine. Even the most cynical disbelievers will likely think twice, or perhaps at least once, about their next engagements with our fine-feathered, fur-covered, and scaly-skinned friends.
Oh, and unless you are hankering for the isolation of solitary confinement within your friend circle, I implore that you never suggest to any cat, dog, bird, lizard, or fish parents that their pets don’t love them. You will only be enhancing and encouraging your endangered species status.
