I don’t judge people based on their race, religion, or sexual orientation. I judge people based on how they treat animals. If you treat animals well, you’re a friend of mine. If you treat animals poorly, or even worse, abuse them, you’re definitely not.

I’ve had a soft heart for animals since I was a young child. I would attempt to protect our family dogs when my dad tried to smack them for being disobedient. I would move worms from the sidewalk into the grass after it rained, and over the years I assisted numerous turtles and frogs in crossing the road safely. I refused to put a worm on my hook when fishing because I didn’t want to hurt the worm. My heart hurt for the fish who were caught. I cried when animals died in TV shows.

When I was around five years old my dad went deer hunting for the first time. Completely oblivious of this fact, the next morning I spotted the deer he’d shot hanging from a tree in our backyard and burst into hysterical tears. My dad never hunted again. 

Once my sister and I found a baby bird all alone and out of its nest, too young to survive on its own. We knew our parents wouldn’t let us bring it inside the house, so we put it in a small, enclosed area my dad used for yard debris, dreams of raising a baby bird filling our heads. The next morning we ran outside excitedly to check on our new pet, but to our utter devastation it had died sometime during the night. We blamed ourselves.

One of my ‘helping animals’ events that stands out the most in my mind, and probably the minds of some of my relatives, also happened when I was young. My maternal cousins were spread throughout the Midwest, but at least once a year everyone traveled to my grandparents’ house so the family could get together. We cousins were always excited to see each other, and because we didn’t want to miss a moment, we were together 24/7. 

Occasionally we were allowed to sleep in a tent that was set up in the backyard. During one of those times we were warned repeatedly not to let a cat that was wondering around the neighborhood into the tent with us. 

Talking and laughing in the tent that night we heard meows and noticed a cat attempting to get into the tent with us. It was getting pretty chilly outside by that time and I started to feel sorry for the cat. I told everybody that I was letting the cat into the tent, and that we could put it back outside early in the morning so none of the adults would be the wiser.

I was in heaven snuggling the cat as I laid in my sleeping bag that night and remember thinking it was pretty fat for a cat that lived outdoors.

The rising sun and singing of birds woke me up early the next morning. Groggy, I opened my eyes and at first didn’t understand what I was seeing. There was something hanging off the back of my cousin, who was sleeping with her back to me. It took me a few minutes to realize what it was. A newborn kitten, the umbilical cord still attached.

Turns out, there was an important reason we were warned not to let the cat into the tent with us. It was pregnant and looking for a place to give birth.

At first, I was thrilled, and woke everyone else up so we could admire the new babies. Then I realized there was no way we’d be able to sneak the cat and its kittens out of the tent. We were busted. Luckily the adults were more amused than angry.

I passed on my love of animals to my own children, and to this day we’re always on the lookout for animals that need our help. My youngest showed this last summer when she came upon a coyote pup near our house that had been hit by a car. She picked it up and drove it an hour away to the wildlife rehabilitation center in the cities.

The way a person treats animals is one of the best indicators of who they are as a person. That’s how I judge people.

“He who is cruel to animals becomes hard also in his dealings with men. We can judge the heart of a man by his treatment of animals.” – Immanuel Kant