Why do people have pets? They’re full of excitement at the beginning, they’re a fun hassle through their good years, and then they get weak and die after only a fraction of a typical human life.
Maybe it’s because they really are our best friends. All that my little bunny Snow needed to be happy on his birthday was a new wooden carrot. Ten years later, even if I came home from a long, stupid night with some unreasonable kids, my gerbil never knew the difference between my bad and glorious nights. All he wanted was for me to come home and feed his hungry little tummy his favorite sunflower seeds.
He knew who I was, and he knew he depended on me. He was less than 4 inches long and his tail was longer than him, but he was a little ball of friendly energy. Everyone in the world could be mad at me, and the little runt would still play with my hand. Our relationship never changed. Nothing ever made him stop being my friend, except the day nature took his life.
Biology is like math; life is systematic. You’re born, you live, and you die. One day, even the Sun will die, and unless we’ve migrated elsewhere, life in our solar system is done. Physics will take its course. Chemistry will take on new roles. Biology is the finite science. This will be the destruction of our local biology.
We are the finite science. Our tears over the lost will one day be lost themselves. But the opportunity to breathe the air on a planet brimming with life is an incredibly complicated, rare chance. The tears are worth it because the life that just came and went was an absolutely beautiful happening of chance.
Henry, you died today. I’m gonna miss you, little buddy.
