At dinner this evening at the Island Inn (the oldest restaurant on Sanibel Island, first built in 1895), I was taken by the diversity of stories shared by the seven other diners at our round table facing the sunset and the mellow, rolling waves of the Gulf of Mexico.
There were tales of life in foreign countries, wars, secrets, geniuses who wrote and broke codes
and haunted houses from the 1700s. I was totally caught off-guard by a safari story told by a gentleman, a father, a grandfather.
He shared a tribute to the wild zebras he observed while on safari recently in Africa with his family, including his young grandchildren.
As they watched in the wild, they happened to see a lion race after a zebra, catch it, rip one of its legs almost completely off, and leave it to die, bleeding to death.
As the family watched in horror, they noticed a group of zebras appear from out of the bush. The zebras surrounded the fatally injured one. And then, one by one, each zebra stepped forward to nuzzle the face of the dying zebra, leaving it to its final end, alone.
I know with all my heart that animals are more fully aware than we give them credit for, and given a moment like this, they are just as able to feel love for each other as humans do. I never really doubted it, but this story reinforced my love for animals.
I'm officially a pescetarian wannabe. That's the best I can do for today.