Feeding Animals Feeds My Soul, Finding Hungry Critters Wherever I Go

I have always loved animals, mainly cats. Any regular readers are familiar with my total obsession with the feline of the species.

What I’m about to disclose may seem bizarre to many considering that I was born and raised in South Africa where, arguably, some of the world’s most extraordinary animals reside. People travel great distances to glimpse Africa’s bounty of fauna.

As a child, I saw my fair share of African wildlife but as is the norm when we’re young, I never truly appreciated the majesty of God’s creatures

This all changed in late 2017 when I headed to the US.

I love to walk. It is instrumental in maintaining and improving my mental and physical health, so after I settled into a one-bedroom apartment in San Antonio, Texas, I began looking for trails to tread.

The amazing thing about San Antone (said with a thick Southern drawl), is that incredible parks are dotted all around the city. As I’d settled in the northern suburbs, I found five amazing reserves relatively close to me, Dwight D. Eisenhower, Phil Hardberger, and Walker Ranch Parks being my favourites.

Due to circumstances somewhat beyond my control, I was forced to slow down and take stock of my life. As I slowed my roll, I began to notice so much more of nature’s treasure trove around me.

I spotted my first deer in Phil Hardberger Park, stopping dead in my tracks on the Savannah Loop as I eyed the beautiful big buck with awe.

We eyed each other for a bit before he wandered off and I continued along the path, craning my neck to spot any other deer in the woods. I saw another eight and from that day on, I was hooked — deer were my new obsession.

One of the greatest moments in my park wanders was feeding a few timid, but hungry deer in McAllister Park. The buck with only one antler, presumably after a fight, was the bravest as he extended his neck to reach the carrot in my outstretched hand, not wanting to take too many steps toward me.

A few months later, I had an opportunity to live on a small ranch south of the city which enabled me to deepen my obsession with horses. I became the “sugar lady,” greeting my awaiting posse each morning with carrots and apples.

The sound of chewing and the shape of horse noses remain one of my favourite things to this very day.

Despite every effort I could muster, including studying at university for a semester to extend my stay, I had to leave my home. So I headed to Costa Rica to teach English.

San José, like many cities, was relatively devoid of wildlife. Dirty streets and violently barking dogs became my new reality.

Knowing that Costa Rica is famous for toucans and sloths, I craned my neck as I searched nearby trees in hopes of spotting one, whether in a city park or on a rural excursion. Alas, I found none, eventually fulfilling my critter wishlist at La Paz Waterfall Gardens Nature Park shortly before I left.

In September 2019, I arrived in Southern Ontario, Canada and it was here that I fell into an almost trance-like obsession with backyard critters.

Squirrels foraged under trees and in the grass as I wandered around my new neighbourhood, falling more and more in love with the assortment of gray and black bodies racing about gathering food and handing out warning squeaks.

I began leaving a few nuts on my window sill hoping to create my own viewing platform. They were soon found by a brave little gray fellow, delighted to discover the daily stash. I named him Turk.

Shortly afterwards a black chap named Gorgeous George came a-callin’ and it wasn’t long before word got around. Soon I was feeding all and sundry, including a chipmunk I named Simon — original yes I know.

My love affair with my squirrels was deep and real. Six feet apart had no meaning to my merry band of marauders as the pandemic set in.

Over the next few years, I had to leave Canada every six months to renew my visa and each time I returned to my little basement apartment, I fell back into the routine of leaving a peanut buffet on my dining room windowsill.

I could never be sure if the pillagers at my window were my original babies.

Emerson, Tennyson, and Hennessey may indeed have been Turk and George. I’m not versed enough in squirrel features to tell them apart.

I find myself temporarily in South Africa in my mother’s home up against the mountain, but there are no squirrels here. They exist in droves just down the road in Somerset West and I was delighted to find a few in the Gardens in Cape Town city centre on a visit with my sister, but alas, they do not hang around on the mountainside.

Instead, I now have a posse of birds. They wait for me in the morning around sunrise, calling to let me know that it’s breakfast time. As soon as I head towards my glass sliding doors, they go crazy, yelling to their friends that the seed lady is coming.

Some fly over to perch on the branches of a big tree, others sit on the roof as they wait, but a few brave souls hit the ground before I have even closed the door behind me.

Then they feast.

Some come to see me throughout the day, reminding me that they’re still there and ready for a late lunch.

As I pen this piece, a squadron of Cape Sparrows are snatching up birdseed as fast as they can after a stormy night. Keeping oneself safe in frenetic weather can definitely build up an appetite.

I know it’s merely a matter of time until I return to North America where my soul feels at ease and the squirrels tear around without much of a care in the world.

Until then, I’ll keep tending to my flock.

Please feel free to buy me a coffee if you like what you read.