…every creature has a way of being that deserves to be met, not just managed.
People often assume I look after dogs. Maybe cats. They’re usually a little surprised when they hear the full list.
Over the years, I’ve also cared for guinea pigs, chickens, bearded dragons, fish, leaf insects, and giant snails. Each one a regular presence in someone’s life. Each one, in their own way, entirely worth the attention.
The value of a life isn’t determined by its size, or its familiarity, or whether most people would understand why you love it.
That’s something I find myself returning to often. It isn’t a philosophy I arrived at overnight — it’s one that has been steadily reinforced, creature by creature, household by household, over many years of this work.
The giant snails, for instance. I was warned they were remarkable. I wasn’t quite prepared for quite how remarkable. I’ve since learned that one — not on my watch, I should say — was once discovered on the ceiling. I completely believe it. There’s something about them that defies expectation at every turn.
The chickens — and there have been several flocks over the years — have a habit of going into what I can only describe as egg production overdrive while I’m with them. I’ve chosen to take it as a compliment.
Bearded dragons are watchful and particular in the most fascinating way. I’m currently looking after a female, and she is considerably more feisty than the last bearded dragon in my care. She knows exactly what she wants and is entirely unbothered about making that clear. I find that rather admirable.
A leaf insect, held gently, is one of the most extraordinary things. So fragile, so precise. The kind of creature that makes you slow down just by existing — and slowing down, I’ve come to believe, is one of the most useful things a carer can do.
Every one of them notices things. Every one of them has a way of being that deserves to be respected, not just managed.
It’s the same instinct I bring to a nervous rescue dog, or an elderly cat who needs things done just so. It isn’t really about species. It’s about paying attention — genuinely — to the creature in front of you. Reading what they need rather than assuming you already know.
That kind of attention is something I’ve spent a long time developing. It runs through everything I do, whether I’m caring for something small and strange and remarkable, or something familiar and beloved and dear.
If you have a pet that tends to get a slightly blank look when you mention them to people, I’d love to hear from you. They’re all deserving of being cared for well — whatever shape that care needs to take.
