J. D. Porter

It is fitting that you spent your 1^st birthday at Zoo Atlanta, because it was a chance visit to Grant Park in the spring of 1970 that drew me into a 40-year career working with animals in zoos. I met Grandma Karen when I worked at the Louisville Zoo. Your dad was born when I worked at the Toledo Zoo. He spent the 1^st ten years of his life in and around that zoo.

So, it was on a hot July morning that we jockeyed for position at the Zoo Atlanta viewing areas. You were suitably impressed with the elephants and giraffes, pointing them out to us and calling them “gogs”. You also patiently watched the gorillas and cautiously petted some goats. But you reserved your most enthusiastic response for the many car-like utility vehicles (“caws”) that cruised the pathways.

I can’t predict much about how your life will unfold, but I do think animals will feature prominently. You share your home with two dogs, Alice and Libby, and I believe “gog” was your first, recognizable word. And a fitting first-word it is. Dogs don’t just live with you. They crawl around the floor with you, they steal your food, lick your face, and give you unconditional love and affection.

A couple of weeks ago, Grandma and I brought Libby and Alice to our house for a few weeks while your backyard is having some work done. Your dad reported that when you came home from daycare, you noticed their absence (a remarkable bit of awareness) by saying “gogs”.

Dogs have also been a part of my life since the day I was born, too. My childhood dogs—Mitsy, Tippy, and Snoopy—were yard dogs that never came inside the house. But in those days children seldom went in the house either, except to eat or sleep. The dogs ran with us, or we ran with them.

Grandma Karen and I shared our home with Simba and Jana for the first fourteen years of our marriage, then Chelsea and Bexley for another twelve years. Now, we are content to have Alice and Libby stay with us on occasion.

I love having dogs around me. They help me understand the deep connection between humans and animals. When I lay my hand on a dog, I feel a sense of calm and wellbeing that defies any rational explanation. Maybe that is why I was drawn to a profession that allowed me to work with animals.

When I wrote my book, Lessons from the Zoo, I included a bonus lesson titled, “Love Your Neighbor”.  In it, I explore the spiritual dimension of how we deal with animals and how my faith in God reinforces my love of animals. We humans have a tendency to think of ourselves as separate and above the animals. We treat them as objects to be owned, exploited, and even eaten. But the world is a multispecies community, and we should recognize our spiritual relationship with all living things.

You won’t remember anything about your first trip to the zoo. But that’s okay. I don’t remember anything about my first trip to the zoo, either. Memories, it would seem, are another area where our lives intersect. Your memories are just beginning to build as my memories are fading like the sound of a passing car. That’s why I am trying to write down as much about our lives together as I can. Maybe someday, you’ll look at these musings and remember how much life you have already lived and how deeply you are loved.

In a contest of important figures in your life, I would probably rank a distant 4^th right now (maybe 6^th if you count your dogs). But I can’t help but feel there is a special bond between us. We’re just a couple of guys—one young and one old—trying to figure out our place in the universe.

So, Happy Birthday buddy. I can’t wait to see what adventures your second year of life will bring us.

Love,

Grandpa