I thought that I was a crazy pet owner, but now I realize I'm

Hear, O lovers of life and keepers of creatures, the words of Beth Ostrosky Stern, who confessed with both laughter and humility: “I thought that I was a crazy pet owner, but now I realize I’m not so bad.” At first, these words may seem light, even playful, but within them rests a truth about devotion, compassion, and the measure of love. For in the eyes of the world, to care deeply for an animal may seem excessive—but in truth, it reveals the noblest depths of the human heart.

To be called a crazy pet owner is to be judged for giving too much, for sacrificing time, comfort, and wealth for the sake of a creature that cannot speak our language. Yet in Stern’s reflection, we hear the turning of understanding: that such devotion is not madness, but mercy. It is the recognition that love need not be confined to human circles, that to tend faithfully to an animal is to share in the ancient covenant of stewardship given to humankind since the dawn of time.

The origin of such devotion lies in the sacred bond between person and pet. For these creatures, whether dog, cat, bird, or horse, ask for little—food, shelter, kindness—and yet return love in abundance. Many who give themselves to this bond find they receive more than they ever bestow: comfort in loneliness, companionship in sorrow, joy in the smallest of moments. To call oneself a “crazy pet owner” is often a badge worn by those who understand this truth too well, who have allowed their hearts to be fully open.

Consider, O listener, the tale of Florence Nightingale, famed nurse and angel of the battlefield. Few know that she also adored animals, keeping owls, dogs, and cats throughout her life. Her tenderness toward them was not a distraction, but a reflection of the same boundless compassion that moved her to care for the wounded and the forgotten. The world may have thought her eccentric, but her devotion to animals was of the same spirit as her service to humanity. So it is with Stern’s words: what seems excessive is, in fact, an extension of love.

The meaning of this saying is clear: what some may call madness is often misunderstood devotion. To give freely, to care deeply, to treasure the vulnerable—these are not signs of weakness but of strength. Stern’s realization—“I’m not so bad”—is the awakening to this truth: that the heart that loves without shame is healthier, nobler, and stronger than the heart that withholds.

The lesson for you, O child of tomorrow, is this: never let the world shame you for loving too much, whether it be toward people, animals, or causes that stir your soul. True greatness lies not in measured affection, but in abundant compassion. If others call you “crazy” for caring, smile, for you have joined the company of saints, visionaries, and healers whose love changed the world.

Practical action follows: if you are entrusted with a pet, embrace the role not as burden but as blessing. Care for it faithfully, with tenderness and joy. Do not compare your devotion to the standards of others, but measure it by the light in your companion’s eyes and the peace in your own heart. And beyond your home, extend that compassion: support shelters, protect the voiceless, and teach children to love and respect all living beings.

Therefore, remember Stern’s wisdom: to be thought “crazy” in love is no dishonor. It is better to love too much than too little, better to err on the side of compassion than on the side of indifference. For in the eyes of the creatures you care for, you are not crazy at all—you are guardian, friend, and family. And that, O listener, is the noblest title of all.