This is Patsy Gibbons from Kilkenny, Ireland with his three rescued foxes: Grainne, Minnie and Henry. Grainne was found near death in a factory box of paper that had been set aside for shredding. She'd found her way into the factory looking for warmth and food. Minnie was an undernourished and dehydrated pup found by a woman who'd heard that Patsy was an expert in raising rescued foxes. The "expert" bit, Patsy refutes. Henry was discovered badly mauled by dogs. A vet suggested putting down the wounded animal, but Patsy set out to heal him up.
Patsy now takes the three foxes all over Ireland, to share the story with people, especially children, and to encourage a new compassion for animals. I'm encouraged in our throw away-get rid of it-why bother world, - here's a soft spoken fellow who has committed himself to living things in their vulnerability. And why not, the animals were created before we were, and clearly they have dignity and are to be cared for. We were made to be close to them.
God said, "Let the waters be alive with a swarm of living creatures, and let birds wing their way above the earth across the vault of heaven." And so it was. God created great sea-monsters and all the creatures that glide and teem in the water in their own species, and winged birds in their own species. God saw that it was good. (Genesis 1: 20,21)
God said, "Let the earth produce every kind of living creature in its own species: cattle, creeping things and wild animals of all kinds." And so it was. God made wild animals in their own species, and cattle in theirs, and every creature that crawls along the earth in its own species. God saw that it was good. (Genesis 1: 24,25)
So from the soil the Lord God fashioned all the wild animals and all the birds of heaven. These he brought to the man to see what he would call them; each one was to bear the name the man would give it. The man gave names to all the cattle, all the birds of heaven and all the wild animals. Genesis 2:19,20)
This creation we call paradise is born of God's explosive imagination. And we are part of it with all the plants and animals. We seem to know this instinctively. When we are little we love animals, are fascinated by them, and want to be near them. They are our friends. Our first books were filled with animals that were messengers, held secrets, had magical powers and ways of communicating. Storybook animals do super-things and often save the day.
This human solidarity with the animals is discovered wondrously in the lives of the saints: Francis and the wolf of Gubbio, Seraphim and his bear, Anthony and the sermon-attentive fish, Gobnait and her honey bees, Gertrude and her cats.
But then at some point, we change, and the animals become the enemy: we shoot them out of the sky and kill them for their horns, tails, fur, tongues, testicles, feathers and claws. We would speak negatively of primitive and native peoples who dress in furs and feathered head dresses, but many American 1940's films depict women covered in the skins of dead animals - heads, tails and feet hanging off of them. We're more the killer beasts than the beasts. The only enemy a fox has is humans.
So here we meet Patsy Gibbons. Some Irish news outlets criticize him for taking in animals that should be left alone: "Let nature take its course," we say. But it wasn't nature that brought the foxes to near death; it was us, having destroyed their natural habitat, leaving them vulnerable to packs of dogs let off their leases. So maybe Mr. Gibbons is making an amends to the creatures which are given to us in their beauty, powers and intelligence.
It's not easy being an animal on this planet: the sea turtles are nearing extinction, choking to death in the many billions of plastic-tonnage we dump into the ocean; the eight million horses, mules and donkeys killed during the First World War; the forest animals of Vietnam and Cambodia burned to death by our wartime defoliants; the animals we call big game; the animals we enslave to carry what we can't or won't; the animals we use for stupid entertainment: bull fights, fox and stag hunts; the animals we destroy out of ignorant superstition; the animals killed in nuclear tests and war games, the animals we use for experiments and testing (and don't need to). The horrors are endless.
I'm invited to sit with this picture of Patsy and his foxes. It might gentle me, draw out some childhood memory, perhaps some personal regret with regard to the other living things, or awaken some new desire to help renew the paradise planet entrusted to our care.
We've got a long way to go - some folks won't even bother to recycle a plastic water bottle, an old newspaper, a cardboard box, empty soup can or cookie tin.
