Why Do I Care?

I tend to feel an overwhelming degree of compassion for animals. If I see an animal in need—a panicked cat in the median strip of a highway, a homeless dog on the street—and my attempt to help fails, it puts a crimp in my evening, at the very least.

If there’s nothing I can even attempt to do (the dog with the pleading eyes in the Hunan, China marketplace—but that’s a story for a different post), I feel heartsick, and I can’t just let it go.

Life would be a lot easier for me if I didn’t care, or if I didn’t notice animals in need. Or if I noticed and could simply put my mind elsewhere. I almost envy people who can do that—with an emphasis on almost, because my respect for those who do flags a little.

My problem, if it can be called that, is that I tend to feel deeply. This has many benefits, but it also means that another creature’s suffering can undo me.

So why do I let myself care? There’s a degree of choice in this. I could try to school my mind not to feel so much, not to care so much, not to try to help. But I wouldn’t like myself very much if I did. And I wouldn’t have made the incremental differences I’ve made in the lives of some animals. That matters to me.

There is a world of animal suffering. Suffering is felt by one individual at a time, even when it’s collectively massive. While saving the life of one animal won’t change the world, for that one animal, the world changes completely.

If you have your own “why do I care” moment, please consider sharing it—your story might be the one that helps someone else stop looking away.