A Christmas Party For The Animals

Auckland Star, Volume LXX, Issue 303, 23 December 1939, Page 3 (Supplement)

A Christmas Party For The Animals

I HAVE received an "invitation to a novel Xma* party. It will not be an expensive party; no money will be squandered upon ice creaxus nor will there be extravagant presents for a number of bored small guests. There will, indeed, be no persons there except my hostess and myself and we shall rather be servitors than revellers. My hostess, also, is generally reputed to be a little mad. If she were not, the neighbourhood says, would she dream of giving a party for her animals T She, moreover, who lives on a farm and should therefore be capable of putting animals in the place where they belong—as the* mere servants of man, his slaves, born to work his will, existing, indeed, merely at his indulgence. Certainly it is a strange farm, this little plac? of hers; it grows little save food for herself and her beasts, and, had she not a small income, it could not sustain even them for long. It might be described rather as a haven thf.n a farm. She iives there very quietly, surrounded by animals and otherwise alone. Whether sorrow has entered her life or disappointment nobody knows. She seems happy, if remote. In this troubled age she has iit&le contact with reality, but that in itself is wonderfully restful. She lives largely in a world of her own, and that world is peopled by animals; her own and other people's, for, it is scarcely necessary to say, she is a little exploited by her neighbours. Unwanted animals find haven there; dogs that are too lovable to be shot simply because they cannot work, horses that are too old for active service but too boloved to lie destroyed.

By MES.

"But a party for animals —at a time when human beings are suffering and in need t" As I said, little money will be spent; her plan, I take it, is merely a small treat, a special indulgence for each of her fourfooted friends. "I always think animals should have a share in Christmas," she told me gently. "After all, they did in the Bible, for wasn't the Babe born in a stable with the beasts all about Him?" And so, when other people are spending money upon many little luxuries, presents that are ( superfluous and not even appreciated, she ' gives herself and her few coins to a day for the animals. They are all loose, to begin with; they wander where they will all day —only her own small garden is denied them. The old horses have each their own treat — bread and salt for this, a few precious lumps of sugar for that, an apple, very soft and ripe because of worn teeth, for the old grey pony. The dogs, too, are known to have their preferences. Old Mick has an unhealthy taste f6r toasted cheese, and Dandy revels in blackballs. And so it goes on. "A few shillings will cover it all, and is it not their day, toot" she asks wistfully. I agreed that Christmas belongs not only to the children but to the animals. Qave not the poets and the ancient legends given them their share? On Christmas live, the myth says, the oxen kneel at midnight in their pens. Thomas Hardy loved that story and wrote: We pictured the meek mild creature* fk«R They dwelt in their strawy pen. Nor did it occur to one of us there To doubt they were kneeling then.

"So fair a fancy,** Hardy calls it, and my gentle animal-lady agreed with shining eyes that she would like to see the beasts kneeling in adoration. She reminded me, too, of that other story —that at midnight on Christmas Eve the animals speak their thoughts to each other. Then are they gifted with second sight, and woe betide the eavesdropper who overhears his own fate foretold by the horses and oxen in his stable! "And they know," said my strange friend with a shudder. "They see so much further than we." To change this morbid current of her thoughts, I reminded her of that saint, Eddi, priest of St. Wilfrid, In his chapel at Manhoqd End, Ordered a midnight service For sueb as cared to attend. But, since "the Saxons were keeping Christmas" and the night was stormy, nobody came to Eddi's service, although the altar lamps were lighted. But presently an old marsh donkey and a "wet, yokeweary bullock" pushed their way in out of the storm to the shelter of the little chapel, and "How do I know what is greatest. How do I know what is least? This is my Father's business," Said Eddi, Wilfrid's priest. So, to these three that were gathered together the good man preached:;' And he told the ox of a manger And a stall in Bethlehem, J And he spoke to the asc of a Elder That rode to Jerusalem. The animal-lady liked that story; she does not understand poetry, but the simple jingle of Kipling's verse and the picture of the mild-eyed priest and the weary beasts delighted her. She beghn to feel less apologetic about her party; otjjer and greater spirits than her had that the animals should have a share at Christmas time.

They say that she is a little mad. It may be so, but I think of tt>.e thousands of deserted pets on Christmas Day, I am inclined to like her madness. How many saner people, shrewd business men and sensible, practical-minded women have been heard to say, "We'll go out- for the whole day on Christinas. Lock the place up. The dog ? Oh, he's perfectly all right on the chain. The cat can be shut out, and we must remember to give the canaries some fresh water. We're certainly not going to be tied to the house because of a lot of animals. What's Christmas for!'' Not, apparently, for the joy of the beast creation that yet had some gentle, nyld eyed share in the first Christmas. No, I think I like my animal-lady's folly better than this sound common sense.