Several decades ago, schoolchildren were taught that the difference between animals and humans was that humans used tools, and animals did not.  It seemed reasonable.  But since then, scientists have observed many different animals using tools.  Not only monkeys and the great apes, but also smaller, what we consider to be less intelligent creatures.  Even some species of birds use long sticks to poke into holes, waiting while ants crawl onto it.  They then withdraw the rod and quickly devour the insects.  The right size and shape twig is thus fashioned into a very useful tool for manipulating their environment.

Suddenly homo sapiens needed another distinction if they were to maintain such a lofty position within creation.  The next explanation offered was that only people could understand their own mortality.  Indeed, we were told that only humans had souls.

Since the notion of a soul is a spiritual concept and has little, if anything to do with science, the fact that we humans even pretend that we can possibly dismiss other species as “soul-less” is the height of arrogance.

It is reminiscent of the days when whites owned black slaves.  Although some felt compassion for their “property”, they nonetheless had the power to do with them as they pleased.  This was easily justified because of the belief that black people were sub-human, and that God couldn’t possibly hold the owners to account for having slaves of African descent.  After all, they didn’t have souls...

Two years ago, when our old, much loved dog, Barney, quietly got up, drank some water, laid down and died, our younger dog, Boo, grieved for two weeks.  Normally wanting to be at my side every waking second, she lay in the living room, droopy eyed, not caring where I was, losing weight each day as she refused all food.

Last fall my aged pony came down with colic.  His old heart could not handle the stress and, amidst many tears, he died in my arms.  My young mare, who had grown up playing with the pony, stood for three days, looking out over the area where we had buried him.  She barely moved from the spot, even resisting her feed.

And not long ago, near Bangkok, an elephant named Jim tried desperately to lift his twin sister, Joom, as she lay dying.  His keepers are now worried about him, as his deep depression is obvious.

If non-human animals have no understanding of their own mortality, why do wild horses rally around one that is ill, surrounding and protecting her until she either gets better, or dies?  How is it that dogs have been known to howl at the precise moment that a loved one, whichever species, passes on? Why do dolphins take turns helping an ill pod member to the surface to breathe?  And why do cow and calf elephants refuse to leave their herd matriarch when she is shot, even as the poachers slaughter them one by one?  This latter example flies in the face of all that we have been taught about instinct, especially the instinct to live.

The word “instinct” is commonly used when we humans become uncomfortable with our own vast lack of knowledge.  But those of us who spend our lives with non-human companions know that instinct is only a small part of what they are.  And we also know that our companion animals look soulfully at us when we are sad, instantly forgive us when we are irritable, and show us daily the power of unconditional love.  How would that be possible if each did not possess a soul?

Perhaps it is time that we open our minds, along with our hearts, and accept our fellow creatures as partners on this Earth, to walk along beside us instead of ten feet behind.