Benefits of Pets

Beyond Service Animals and Emotional Support Animals: The Benefits of Pets for Disabled People

by Bekah Maren Anderson

I'd say one of the most frequent questions I get from folks at the Julian Way is, "How's Jazzy?"

"Jazzy" is my cat Jasmine, a small gray house cat with boundless energy and personality. Anyone who interacts with me with any regularity knows Jazzy; she shows up on Zoom calls by sitting directly in front of the camera, and greets anyone who enters the house at the front door. She's adorable, and she knows it.

I love talking about Jasmine with disabled people who love animals; she brings me so much joy, and it's wonderful to be able to share that. Even more though, I love how talking about her opens up conversation about other people's beloved animal companions. I'm always touched by the depth of the love humans can have for the critters that share our lives, and the love those animals give back to us. Plus, if someone's having a hard day, talking about their pet will usually bring a smile to their face.

I've been thinking lately about how important pets are to so many people with disabilities, whether they are service animals, emotional support animals, or "only" a pet. And obviously nondisabled people can and do have incredibly close bonds with their pets, but there are two added dimensions that often come into play when a disabled person bonds with an animal.

1. The joy of caring for another.

Disabled people frequently receive care from others, and while that can be a beautiful thing, many of us struggle to find as many opportunities to give back and care for others. For instance, as someone who doesn't drive, I often ask for and receive rides from friends, but I can't offer them rides in return. I can offer help and support in other ways, but depending on the temperaments and needs of my friends, they may or may not accept what I can offer. This dynamic can lead to disabled people feeling inadequate in our relationships, even if no one else perceives us that way. It can lead to stress, as even receiving good and compassionate care starts leading you to wonder how you will ever "repay" the person supporting you. And it can contribute to low self-esteem, if one sees a link between their worth as a human being and their ability to help others.

It's very important to note here that disabled people are worthy and valuable, no matter what we are or are not giving to others, and that often we are giving back to our family and friends more than we realize. That being said, it's also important to feel we're giving back, to get the rush of good brain chemicals that comes from knowing you did something to help another being. This may also be vital to our religious, spiritual, or moral life, as caring for others is a major tenant of many traditions.

And one of the beautiful things about pets is, they need us. They need to be fed, played with, walked, petted, and taken care of when they get sick. When you feed the cat or take the dog outside, those acts are concretely and indisputably helping another creature. Furthermore, the way our pets bond to us often means that they appreciate our specific efforts, even when another person could have met the same need—for instance, when a pet comes to cuddle or play with their personal human over another member of the household. For those of us who are not often relied upon, having an animal that loves, trusts, and needs you can be incredibly touching.

It can also, of course, be incredibly painful, if you come to feel you can't care for that animal's needs the way you would like. For this reason, I would like to see more support for disabled folks to help them take care of their pets. Losing the ability to do certain tasks for your animal shouldn't mean you have to give that animal up.

2. Pets don't know what ableism is.

I've had cats my entire life, and most of them eventually figure out that I can't see them, and adapt. Sometimes they adapt to help me, by making more noise so I can find them, or working harder to get out of my way when I'm walking. Other times, they adapt in order to use my limitations against me—for instance, realizing they can steal food off the table if they're quiet enough. But even when a cat is shamelessly taking advantage of my lack of sight, they aren't being ableist.

Ableism is a human made system that devalues the lives, needs, and contributions of disabled people; Jazzy doesn't know what that is. What she knows is that I have chicken, and she would like some.

Animals, in my experience, find the perfect balance between treating their disabled humans just like everyone else, and adapting to our particular needs and skills. And when you deal with ableism all day—from your doctors, your colleagues, your neighbors, and even your friends and family—it's refreshing to spend some time with a creature who views you as equally worthy and valuable as any other human—also known as, equally expected to serve them hand and foot (though that's probably just cats). In a way, my cat stealing from me is a demonstration of her lack of ableism; she would steal from anyone, disabled or not. It just happens to be slightly easier with me.

I don't say any of this to romanticize pets or pet ownership. Every animal is an individual, and each person's relationship with them is unique. There are certainly people, disabled or not, who find the way pets rely on them to be more overwhelming than fulfilling. And for all I know, there are pets out there who could be described as ableist.

But the point is, pets can be critical supports in the lives of disabled people, even beyond the realms of service animals and emotional support animals. We need relationships where we are able to give as well as receive. And we need relationships that are as free of ableism as they can be. We are working for a world in which everyone has an abundance of relationships like that with humans—but until then, and afterward, I will still have my cat.