I just read several online stories about pet owners, and how their dogs and cats remembered them after a long separation period. One man in the service was gone for three years. When the soldier returned home, his overly excited German Shepherd almost knocked him over as “daddy” walked up the driveway.
A woman’s Siamese cat mysteriously disappeared. She looked and looked but couldn’t find it. Four years later, a local veterinarian called to say that he had her lost fur baby, identified by a chip implanted under the skin.
Driving over to identify this recently found pet, the frightened feline hissed as the woman first approached it. After a few seconds, evidently recognizing the voice over anything else, it literally jumped into her arms. There are hundreds, if not thousands of similar stories.
Some animal experts believe that we sometimes underestimate the memory of not only our dogs and cats, but other fur and feathered creatures as well. I find that truly remarkable, because I’ve found people that I went to school with, or worked alongside, not remembering me after only a few years passed.
I’ve written about two of our late dogs, Simon & Carly, numerous times. When Carly passed away in 2014, I had one of her photos enlarged to 11×14 and placed it on the lower level of our fireplace. Simon immediately recognized that face, and for the next nine years, he’d walk up to the photograph and stare.
On occasion, for whatever reason, he’d use his front and rear legs to scratch out in the carpet right below the photo, as if posturing himself like he used to do when Carly was alive. From what I’ve learned, a majority of Pekingese seem to have that catlike scratching trait.
Simon would sit and listen to my wife when she called on the phone after I’d placed the receiver by his ears. He instantly recognized her voice even without seeing who was talking. Joleen said that he did the same whenever I called.
Dogs are great at recognizing other canines as well. Our two would watch when other dogs came on the television, yet never barked or got excited. On the other hand, our daughter’s two Pekingese, would go into a tizzy, ready to leap through the screen.
Domestic animals aren’t the only ones having unusual ability to remember things!
In Alaska, my mother would drive her blue Ford Taurus to a local Fred Meyer store in Anchorage during winter months, and feed the ravens and eagles that hung around in a tree near the back parking lot. If these birds weren’t there, they soon would be, recognizing her car without problem.
She claimed that she gave them scraps, but I believe Mom bought them frozen fish and meat and never told anyone. One day, she ran out of “bird food” and didn’t make the trip.
Mother only lived a mile from this store, and that afternoon, she heard a terrible squawking outside her front door. Opening it, a couple of huge glossy-black ravens were sitting on the roof of her vehicle. They’d evidently followed her at one time or another, and were upset that she hadn’t made a daily appearance at Fred Meyer.
We had a similar occurrence here in Lake Havasu City. My wife, dogs, and I would drive to Rotary Park and eat lunch. For those about to complain, no, Simon & Carly never left the vehicle to do their business nor go on a walk. It’s against park rules in most areas.
There were always too many French fries for Joleen and I to consume, so a few were shared with the pigeons, brown birds, and black birds. They seemed to prefer In-N-Out fries over any others.
After doing this so many times, these wise creatures recognized our little white Chevrolet HHR, exactly like those Alaskan birds did Mom’s blue Ford. After finding out that we weren’t supposed to be feeding the wildlife, Joleen and I quit.
The pigeons, along with these other birds still flew over, and walked around our car in circles, watching as we ate up all of the fries. Sometimes, they’d fly up and land on the hood or roof, with a look of disgust in their small beady eyes.
I know that birds, dogs, cats, and other animals have great memories, yet these Rotary Park pigeons have taken things a bit further. They evidently possess, like some humans, a “retaliatory nature.”
After we stopped feeding them, the hood and top of our car seemed to have an invisible bullseye painted on top.
Not once when we were supplying the feathered creatures with salty carbohydrates did we have any problem with bombs being dropped on our ride. After that food ritual ceased, almost every trip ended with a direct hit.
Eventually, Joleen and I changed rigs for a newer one. The bombing halted for a spell, yet last time we were down there, our Jeep was blindsided on the left front fender by a substantial weapon, much larger than a pigeon carries. I suspect it was a seagull that’d been tipped off as to our identity by the others.
If a bird’s recollection of people is on the same level as a dog or cat’s, I suspect we’ll be welcomed this way forever, that is, until the day we once again start feeding the whole flock.
As the old saying goes,
“Birds of a feather retaliate together!”
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