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Experts say it may depend on which one’s dead

By Ed Goldman

Not long ago, a spirited discussion was held on National Public Radio’s 1A program—not to be confused with A-I (artificial intelligence) nor A1 (a savory steak sauce). It focused on whether animals felt and/or exhibited grief when one of their own died. 

While the show’s host reeled out a few incidents where it had appeared raccoons, elephants and geese were consoling each other at the death of loved ones, the guest, animal expert Susana Monsó—the author of “Playing Possum: How Animals Understand Death”—kept trying to keep the talk grounded.  The danger was that the host might make our four-legged pals sound all-too-human, something called anthropomorphizing (if you bought the larger dictionary at the yard sale).

While I think animals have genuine emotions, I’m with Monsó. They’re not people. They can neither write computer software programs nor fix your furnace. But in so many ways, animals are far better people than most people. They won’t roll their eyes if their mate retells a joke because they have no need for jokes in the first place. They won’t bring home a dead mouse or bird just because their neighbor did.

And when it comes to death, a goose will never say anything fatuous to the widow of another goose like, “If there’s anything I can do… .” 

Nor will a golden retriever deliver a eulogy saying, “Rex will be missed. Maybe not by the particular Prius driver who hit him, but you get my point.”

I just can’t picture six chimpanzees carrying a coffin from hearse to gravesite. And if I could, they wouldn’t be wearing black armbands and sunglasses, no matter how solemn the occasion. It would be pretty cute, though, I’ll admit.

If an Irish cow were to die—say, Mrs. O’Leary’s, who reportedly started the Chicago fire but was subsequently released on her own recognizance—it’s hard to fathom the rest of the cows throwing a wake. For one, if they invited any goats, the kale-and-arugula salad-sampler would never last through the eulogy. For another, cows aren’t known for being sentimental: When farmers stopped personally squeezing milk from their breasts, opting for far more efficient (and less emotionally involving machines) a hard practicality began to permeate the bovine-verse, making the cows sound like jilted housewives. “He always quits after the foreplay,” complained one after seeing the gag in a Playboy cartoon from the 1960s.

And while piglets can certainly express their sorrow by saying, “Why, Harold and I were eating excrement together only yesterday,” it may be best to not ask them to send photo to the funeral home’s memory book.