You know how sometimes, when you learn a new word or consider a certain idea, that word or concept seems to pop up everywhere?

That’s been happening for me with the question of animal suffering and how it shakes us humans.

I’d been reading the contemporary children’s classic Stone Fox to my kids each night, but after finishing it on my own after the kids were tucked in bed the other night, I decided there was no way I wanted to finish reading this to them. I tucked it behind other books on the shelf and posted a rather mournful Facebook status update, indicating my preference that stories with sudden, tragic animal deaths be labeled as such ahead of time.

Rachel Marie Stone's cat, Percy, 2012. Photo courtesy Rachel Marie Stone.

Rachel Marie Stone’s cat, Percy, 2012. Photo courtesy Rachel Marie Stone.

This update sparked a number of different conversations — including whether and when it is good and appropriate to introduce kids to the harsh realities of life through fiction.

Another friend asked if I felt similarly put off by human deaths in books. I had the odd realization that while I routinely cry over the deaths of fictional humans, animal deaths wreck me in a different, more visceral way.

A friend who has spent considerable time in the developing world confessed that while witnessing human suffering was always, of course, wrenching, seeing starving and maimed cats and dogs roam the slums was somehow even more difficult.

Rachel Marie Stone's son, Aidan, holds a bird, 2012. Photo courtesy Rachel Marie Stone.

Rachel Marie Stone’s son, Aidan, holds a bird, 2012. Photo courtesy Rachel Marie Stone.

As chance or providence would have it, that evening at dinner we’d gone around the table and listed off our top three fantastical wishes (but no fair wishing for more wishes, natch.) Without knowing what was to come in Stone Fox, I wished that all the pets and animals I loved would live in good health for as long as I — or someone else who loved them — was around to take care of them.

I’m not embarrassed to admit I was a bit teary after finishing Stone Fox, so I settled down and listened to a Moth Radio Hour podcast, and of course, the first story involved yet another animal death. A hard-bitten New York City police officer told a compelling story of falling in love with a little fluffy lapdog that all his buddies mocked…and then, after an unfortunate accident, watching that dog die in his arms. This is a man who had seen things more gruesome than I care to imagine or to recount, but, for the sake of being professional, in order to stay sane, played it cool. Even when he was dealing with bloodied and mangled bodies. Even when he was on the scene where a tiny girl accidentally drowned in her bath. But the death of that little dog broke him.

I’ve seen my share of starving cats and dogs here in Malawi. Last year, we took in a tiny puppy — unbeknownst to us, riddled with disease from the day we got her — who passed away quickly before we could even find such help that may or may not have been available. Why is it that animal suffering — even the fictional kind! — seems to elicit a special kind of grief?

I don’t really know.

What I do know is that the peaceable kingdom of God includes a vision of animals peacefully and happily living with and among people:

The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them. (Isaiah 11:6)


And in that day will I make a covenant for them with the beasts of the field, and with the fowls of heaven, and with the creeping things of the ground: and I will break the bow and the sword and the battle out of the earth, and will make them to lie down safely. (Hosea 2:18)

Part of human longing for home — a longing that often looks a lot like faith — seems to include the hope that not just we, but our animals, too, will find a place beyond suffering, beyond fear, beyond death itself.

Rachel Marie Stone with her dog, Molly, 2014. Photo courtesy Rachel Marie Stone.

Rachel Marie Stone with her dog, Molly, 2014. Photo courtesy Rachel Marie Stone.


  1. Peggy Bressmer

    Dogs are a special part of my life. It is my hope that people will develop or allow their sensivities to view deeply caring for animals and believe our pets will be there to great us when we go home. Thank you for your publication.

  2. I’m right there with you. i cannot handle animal suffering and have missed out on a fair number of phenomenal books and movies because of this. I agree that a big part of my tenderness in that area is a longing for all things to be made right. But that longing applies to humans as well. So why the strong reaction when animals are involved?

    Perhaps the difference in investment for me is the line of culpability. We humans wrecked the world. We humans destroy ourselves and each other. We humans have terrible power over animals, and so often abuse that power.

    but what did my poor, limping, hip-dyspepsia-suffering pup ever do but be the creature God made him to be? he is unrelentingly loyal to me, in pure ways that my muddled heart cannot mimic.but still, he suffers. he was abused and tossed aside before we brought him into our home. he’s still twitchy and unsure because of what he suffered. and his body is starting to betray him. and when i see him struggle, i am undone.

    It breaks my heart in a visceral way to witness animal suffering because animals simply never signed up for this. Yet, they must live in a world filled with evil and disease anyway, without comprehending why. to that i say, Lord, come quickly and put all things to right.

  3. I was just thinking of that the other day, myself! Why the commercials for saving animals tough at mt heart more so than the commercials for sponsoring a child. It seems crazy to me! Is it because we have devalued human life?

    • No, it isn’t because we have devalued human life. I think it is because humanity as a whole has devalued animal life, and it makes us sad. Think of it, when a human suffers and dies, most of the time we have assurance that person was loved. He will be remembered by his family, friends…a whole network of people.
      And humans are given assurance of place in heaven, if they accept Christ as savior. We have no such definite assurance that an animal will be remembered by it’s creator. We only hope.
      And for an animal, more times than not….the animal is forgotten. It lays in the dust, and rots and noone remembers it or cares. When I see this or think of it, the only thing that comforts me is the thought that this animal’s life was truly in the hands of God. I have to tell myself that the animals were created by God, they belong to Him, and their lives are in His hands. I can only HOPE that there will be a place for them in heaven, as there is for us. I don’t have definite assurance, but I hope.

  4. Catherine Adams

    I struggle with knowing the abuse and neglect that animals suffer. I can be so affected, my entire day, sometimes days leave me feeling sad and hurt.

    Your friends and family will tell you “You can’t save the world Catherine”. I say, “what if everyone just turned their back on the ugliness and did nothing”? Of course I don’t have the power to end the torture, abuse, neglect, and suffering of animal’s, but I can’t ignore this fact. We’re supposed to be positive, enjoy our lives, and be productive well intentioned human’s. Yes, how I enjoy my days when I’m trying not to be plagued by these horrid thoughts.

    It is comforting to know, other caring, empathic people have these feelings for animal’s in a different way than human suffering. Although, human suffering is difficult to cope with as well, it impacts me differently. Maybe because as human’s, we have choice’s and we create suffering for the innocent. The innocent are at our mercy and they have no choice.

    My search for answers with God’s guidance led me here…. My journey continues as I strive to find more answers and the strength to live my life as God intended.

    “Give me hope and the strength to cope”, In Jesus Name Amen.

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