Finn Oakley has spent over five years as a nature and science writer at Discvr.Blog, drawing on his experience at National Geographic Channel. Based in Melbourne, he’s passionate about uncovering the world’s mysteries, dreams of returning to Peru, and enjoys Aussie Bites in his downtime.
Ozzy Osbourne once bit the head off a bat, decapitated doves in a record label office, and, at his absolute lowest, shot 17 of his own cats during a drug-fueled breakdown. By any measure, his relationship with animals began in darkness.
But by the time he died in July 2025, Ozzy’s life had taken a hard left turn. The man once synonymous with shock and chaos had become a surprisingly gentle pet owner, an accidental animal rights advocate, and, in his final years, someone who couldn’t imagine sleeping without a few rescue dogs curled up beside him.
This is the story of extremes—of horrifying cruelty followed by years of humility, remorse, and soft-hearted domesticity. And somehow, it’s all true.
Ozzy Osbourne shot to death 17 cats, bit the heads off live doves & a bat he felt “twitch”, mocked veganism by “trying it”, then laughed that he’s “eating more meat than ever now”, & posted photos of him smiling with the slain bodies of animals.
— Equality For All Animals❤️🔥🐇 (@AnimalUnite) July 23, 2025
From spectacle to sorrow
In the early 1980s, Ozzy was a storm of addiction and spectacle. At a CBS Records meeting in 1981, he bit the heads off two live doves meant for peaceful release.
A year later, during a concert in Iowa, he bit into what he thought was a rubber bat thrown on stage. It was real. He was rushed to the hospital for rabies shots. That incident became a defining moment, not just in his career, but in the mythology of heavy metal itself.
Ozzy Osbourne “the prince of darkness” has passed. Des Moines will never forget the BAT 🦇 pic.twitter.com/wtPQqdokdT
But the darkest moment came privately. At home, high and hallucinating, Ozzy shot and killed every cat in the house—seventeen in total. Sharon Osbourne later said she returned to find him under a piano with a shotgun in one hand and a bloody knife in the other. Ozzy would later call it the final straw, the moment that forced him to confront his addiction.
The turn toward tenderness
What followed was a slow but steady transformation. The MTV reality show The Osbournes offered a new image: Ozzy, now a bumbling but devoted dad, dodging barking Pomeranians and slipping on dog pee in a house full of chaos and pets. At one point, he joked, “I’m not picking up dog sh*t… I’m a rock star!” But he always did. The Prince of Darkness had become a man who cleaned up after his dogs.
That reality stuck. Ozzy spent the last two decades of his life surrounded by animals, primarily rescue dogs, as well as birds, a parrot, and a beloved bulldog named Lola.
His wife Sharon and daughter Kelly were vocal animal advocates, promoting PETA campaigns and swearing off fur. Ozzy followed their lead. In 2020, he starred in a PETA campaign against declawing cats, holding up bandaged fingers and declaring, “If your couch is more important to you than your cat’s health and happiness, you don’t deserve to have an animal.”
He even tried going vegan. It lasted two weeks. “I was Satan last week, now I’m on some f***ing do-it-yourself gardening experience,” he said, laughing at himself.
The change wasn’t performative. In 2024, the family adopted a bulldog that had been doused in accelerant and set on fire. They named him Rocky. Ozzy, horrified by the abuse, asked on their podcast, “How the f*** does someone do that to a dog?” Kelly marveled at the dog’s capacity to love despite what had been done to him. The family gave him a home.
In his final interviews, Ozzy talked more about opening a rescue than recording another album. Sharon said she hoped they’d turn their countryside home into a sanctuary for dogs, horses, even chickens. “A million dogs,” she joked. Ozzy didn’t argue.
A legacy reshaped
When he died at 76, the headlines all mentioned the bat. Some mentioned the cats. But PETA’s tribute struck a different note: “Ozzy Osbourne was a legend and a provocateur, but PETA will remember the ‘Prince of Darkness’ most fondly for the gentle side he showed to animals.”
That’s the version of Ozzy his family knew. And maybe it’s the one his animals knew all along.
This bird looks like it escaped from a Tim Burton sketchbook. But the marabou stork isn’t just a visual oddity. It’s one of nature’s most efficient cleanup crews.
Standing up to five feet tall with a wingspan stretching nearly twelve, the marabou stork commands space wherever it lands. Its bald, scabby head and ominous black wings have earned it nicknames like “the undertaker bird.”
That fleshy balloon on its throat? It’s not a wound, not a tumor, and definitely not for food. It’s an inflatable air sac, known as a gular pouch, that connects to the bird’s respiratory system.
This pouch inflates with air, acting as a visual and auditory tool. During mating season, males pump it full and thump it against their chest to show off. They can’t sing, so this is their version of a love song—and during the dry season, the pouch doubles as a built-in radiator.
Built to scavenge, built to survive
Still, that’s only part of what makes the marabou unforgettable. These storks are expert scavengers.
They’ll eat almost anything, including carrion, fish, flamingo chicks, and even garbage. They often follow vultures to carcasses, waiting for them to tear open thick hides before swooping in to finish the job.
Their strong, straight-edged bills aren’t hooked like a vulture’s but are sharp enough to shear meat and slice through tendons. Once a carcass is open, they’ll gorge themselves on anything they can swallow.
In cities like Kampala and Nairobi, marabous stalk landfills and fish markets with uncanny calm.
Hundreds have been seen around garbage dumps, plucking scraps from plastic bags, even eating items like metal or cloth. It’s not the healthiest diet, but it’s a testament to their adaptability. Though unsettling, their presence in cities helps keep waste from piling up and disease from spreading.
The resemblance is a case of convergent evolution. Like vultures, marabous have featherless heads to stay clean, acidic stomachs to digest rotting meat, and a habit of soaring for hours on warm air thermals.
But they’re true storks, cousins to herons and ibises, and they retain some of those traits too. They still hunt live prey like frogs and insects, and can often be seen patrolling wetlands as confidently as they cruise trash heaps.
Culturally, marabous walk a strange line. In many African communities, they’re regarded with a mix of suspicion and reverence. Their eerie appearance and tendency to hang around the dead have linked them to omens, witchcraft, and bad luck. At the same time, their ability to clean and consume what others will not has earned them grudging respect.
In some places, their body parts—especially the gular pouch—are used in traditional medicine or worn as charms.
The bird’s history with humans doesn’t stop there. In the 19th and early 20th centuries, the soft, white down from its wings was a prized material in European fashion. “Marabou” feathers adorned the collars, cuffs, and boas of Parisian elites. It’s a strange footnote for a creature best known for loitering over trash and devouring carcasses.
They may be the ugliest bird in the room, but without them, the world would be a lot messier. Built for a job few others want, the marabou stork is one of nature’s most underappreciated specialists.
Hulk Hogan slammed giants in the ring, flexed for cameras, and built a pop culture empire on bandanas, handlebar mustaches, and body slams. But behind the bravado was something gentler: a man who really, truly loved animals.
And not just dogs or cats. Hogan kept chinchillas, ferrets, rabbits, birds, turtles, and even chickens. At one point, local officials in Belleair, Florida, reported he had six dogs, a cat, a rooster, five chickens, a ferret, and a house full of bird cages. The rooster? That was a pet for his daughter, Brooke.
Van Nuys HULKAMANIACS,help please,Brooke's dog Molly is lost near Columbus Ave,hit me if u find her,please look4her,love u Maniacs. HH pic.twitter.com/elgNKizvQr
Some neighbors weren’t thrilled. In 2005, they filed multiple complaints about noise and smells. One visit from the police found the Hogan home had so many animals that it violated local ordinances. Hogan and his wife Linda reportedly showed up to a town meeting to defend their pets—Linda even cursed at the mayor. But neither were apologetic. They loved their animals too much.
In interviews, Hogan hinted at this softer persona. “People don’t realize that I go to soccer games, play frisbee, watch The Lion King and start crying,” he told a reporter. He wanted the world to see he wasn’t just Hulk. He was also Terry—a dad, a Florida guy, an animal lover.
That love showed up everywhere. Brooke once posed in a cage for a PETA campaign. Hogan helped rescue her dog when it went missing in California. And when his own dog Duke passed away in 2021, Hogan tweeted, “I am so sad, my loyal friend Duke just passed, I love you Duke, dad.” Fellow wrestlers and fans poured in with sympathy, sharing photos of their own dogs in solidarity.
Can't decide which animal print to wear today,sorry Pebbles my new Jordan's win brother HH pic.twitter.com/X9HChocCfm
On July 24, 2025, Hulk Hogan died at age 71. He passed away at home in Clearwater, Florida. The cause was reported as cardiac arrest. There was no foul play, no drugs, no scandal. Just a sudden goodbye.
WWE confirmed the news that morning. Ric Flair posted that Hulk had “been by my side since we started in the wrestling business,” and Donald Trump called him “strong, tough, smart, but with the biggest heart.”
What many missed in the tributes was the quiet legacy he left behind at home: a man who couldn’t say no to another rescue, who let his backyard fill with chickens and barking dogs, who took pride in his daughter’s fight for animal rights.
Slowly but surely the truth starts to roll out,"Don't mess with kids,animals or the old man with the yellow boots"every dog u know therestHH
In the days ahead, fans will remember the ring entrances and the catchphrases. But maybe they’ll also picture Hogan in the backyard, in flip-flops, feeding chickens and calling for Duke to come back inside. That’s the man his animals knew. And maybe that’s the truest version of Hulk Hogan there ever was.
On July 16, 2025, at the Nassau Open MRI clinic in Westbury, Long Island, a routine medical visit turned horrific. Sixty-one-year-old Keith McAllister went into the MRI room wearing a nearly 20-pound metal chain, his standard weight-training gear.
His wife, Adrienne Jones-McAllister, was undergoing a knee scan when she called for help to rise from the table. Despite the heavy necklace being well-known to staff from previous visits, a technician allowed him to enter, and the machine’s powerful magnet did the rest.
“He went limp in my arms,” Adrienne later said. The chain, drawn in like a torpedo, pinned him to the MRI bore. Attempts to free him failed, and pleas to power down the machine were ignored too long. McAllister suffered multiple heart attacks and died the next day at North Shore University Hospital.
MRI machines generate intensely strong magnetic fields that never turn off. These fields can pull ferromagnetic objects with lethal force. Standard protocols require screening everyone who enters an MRI suite, including caregivers. The magnet’s power is not a secret. But protocols failed. The technician not only permitted McAllister to enter unscreened, but also had reportedly seen him wear the chain before.
What followed was chaos. Adrienne screamed for help. The chain yanked her husband off his feet and locked him to the machine. No one could pry him loose. He was trapped for nearly an hour before first responders were able to remove him.
State regulators have launched an investigation. Nassau County police are conducting interviews. The MRI technician may face professional sanctions or worse. Meanwhile, Adrienne is left haunted by her husband’s final gesture: a wave goodbye as he slipped from consciousness.
The tragedy is a reminder: MRI safety is absolute. There are no exceptions. The rules exist for a reason, and breaking them can be fatal.
The July 20 mountain lion attack at Olympic National Park is being called one of the rarest and most alarming wildlife incidents in recent park history.
The 4-year-old victim had been walking with family along Hurricane Ridge, a popular trail with sweeping alpine views. At around 3:15 p.m., a collared cougar emerged from the brush and bit the child, sparking chaos. The child’s father intervened, reportedly wrestling the mountain lion off his son before it fled. Park rangers, medics, and a LifeFlight helicopter responded quickly. The boy was airlifted to Harborview Medical Center in Seattle, treated, and later released in stable condition.
Officials say cougar attacks are extremely rare in the Pacific Northwest. This was only the second attack in Olympic National Park in over a decade, and the first since a similar encounter in 2023.
Wildlife experts note that such incidents usually involve sick, starving, or juvenile cats. The cougar in this case was part of a regional study. A full necropsy is underway to determine if health, hunger, or other factors led to the attack.
Eyewitnesses described the father as a hero. “I don’t think that kid would survive if it wasn’t for his dad jumping in,” one hiker said. “I don’t think that kid would survive if it wasn’t for his dad jumping in,” one hiker said.
Park officials have temporarily closed parts of Hurricane Ridge as they assess trail safety. They remind visitors that cougar encounters, while frightening, remain rare. However, they are urging vigilance: hike in groups, stay near children, and never run from a mountain lion.
More broadly, conservation groups are pointing to a pattern. Human-wildlife interactions are on the rise in U.S. parks as urban development encroaches on habitat. Mountain lions, once heavily hunted, have rebounded in parts of the Pacific Northwest. Olympic Peninsula cougars, isolated by geography, may face pressures that drive them closer to humans.
The boy survived. The father acted without hesitation. And somewhere between those two facts lies a deeper story about coexistence, conservation, and the unpredictable wildness of America’s last truly untamed places.
Earlier this month in Assam, India, a wild elephant calf was separated from its herd near Borjuri village during a routine forest patrol. The eight-week-old, visibly distressed, ran toward a patrolling jeep and approached humans, seemingly asking for help.
Locals alerted the Kaziranga Forest Department and the Wildlife Trust of India (WTI), launching a swift rescue effort. Nicknamed “Chotu,” the calf was healthy but lost.
Rescuers traced the herd, transported the calf along their trail, and used a clever trick: rubbing his mother’s dung on his body to mask human scent and ensure the mother would recognize him. Once released near the forest’s edge, the team watched as the mother emerged, greeted her calf, and walked back into the woods with him.
The moment was captured on video. Forest staff softly encouraged the baby with “Haan, jaa, jaa, jaa,” Hindi for “Go on.”
Chotu responded with a small trumpet as if to say thank you. The footage quickly went viral.
Elephants are known for their tight family bonds and intelligence. Calves depend on their mothers for food, protection, and social learning.
Separation at such a young age is often fatal. This reunion, made possible by knowledge of elephant behavior and olfactory cues, showed how deeply elephants communicate through scent and sound.
Chotu’s case also highlights the growing challenge of human-elephant conflict in Assam. With herds frequently crossing into villages, accidents and crop damage are common.
Between 2000 and 2023, over 1,400 people and 1,200 elephants died in such conflicts. In this case, villagers helped steer the herd away peacefully, though the baby was unintentionally left behind.
To improve coexistence, the state launched Gajah Mitra, a volunteer network trained to guide elephants away from danger zones. The Wildlife Trust of India has also rehabilitated thousands of animals and led many similar reunions.
The rescue stirred global reactions and praise for its compassion. Many viewers described the scene as proof that “nature has its own language” and praised how “the forest officials spoke it with heart.”
They pop up in parks, schoolyards, and sidewalk cracks. Some people call them weeds. But dandelions? They’re so much more than that.
Turns out, this little yellow flower has some big-time superpowers, and a lot to teach us if we look closely. From floating through the air to helping the planet and our bodies, dandelions are like nature’s undercover superheroes.
Not just a weed
Dandelions aren’t just flowers; they’re one of nature’s best multitaskers. Their seeds can fly up to 5 miles before landing. That’s like tossing a paper airplane and watching it soar from your backyard all the way to the next town. Scientists discovered that dandelion seeds create a special donut-shaped air bubble that helps them float better than any parachute humans have designed. This clever design even inspired engineers to build tiny flying sensors that can drift through the air just like dandelion fluff.
And while they may look simple, dandelions are packed with beneficial nutrients. The leaves are full of vitamins A, C, and K. The roots can be made into tea. The flowers can be used to make natural dyes, jelly, and even syrup. And yes, every part is edible (just make sure they haven’t been sprayed with chemicals!).
They’re also super survivors. A single plant can live for up to 13 years. Its roots grow deep underground, sometimes more than a foot, helping to loosen hard soil and bring up nutrients that other plants need to grow. That means dandelions don’t just grow anywhere. They actually make the ground healthier for other plants.
Dandelions help animals too. They’re some of the first flowers to bloom in spring, giving hungry bees an early source of pollen when there’s not much else around. Butterflies and other insects love them too. Even birds eat their seeds. So when you spot those bright yellow heads, you’re seeing a free snack bar for wildlife.
Believe it or not, engineers have even designed tiny flying robots inspired by how dandelion seeds float through the air. These small tech gadgets can travel without batteries and could be used in the future to check air quality or monitor weather—all thanks to dandelions.
Dandelions have also been used by people for thousands of years. In ancient times, they were part of herbal medicine. People made drinks and ointments from their leaves and roots to help with stomachaches, sore muscles, and even fevers. During wartime, families cooked dandelion leaves in soups and stews when other food was hard to find.
So next time you see one, don’t just blow the seeds and make a wish (although that’s still fun). Look closer. Dandelions are tough, helpful, and way more awesome than we give them credit for. They’re flowers with a purpose, and they’ve been quietly doing good work all along.
Fun dandelion facts for kids:
Dandelions got their name from the French “dent de lion,” meaning “lion’s tooth.”
One plant can make up to 2,000 seeds!
Dandelion leaves were once used in soups and stews during wartime.
Their roots have been used in herbal medicine for over 1,000 years.
A bee’s first meal in spring is often a dandelion.
They can live for more than a decade in the right spot.
Dandelion tea is caffeine-free and good for digestion.
Scientists are studying dandelions to help design better flying robots.
In the hushed wilderness of northern Finland, as summer twilight blurred into darkness, something extraordinary happened. Night after night, a young female gray wolf and a male brown bear emerged together from the forest. They shared food. They rested side by side. And for ten consecutive evenings, they kept each other company between dusk and dawn.
These weren’t enemies or strangers. They were, somehow, companions.
The photographer who witnessed it all was Lassi Rautiainen, a veteran of Finland’s wildlife scene with decades of experience tracking the country’s apex predators. He captured the pair near his base at Kuikka, a remote outpost designed for observation of bears, wolves, and wolverines. And what he saw defied decades of ecological assumption.
“No one had observed bears and wolves living near each other and becoming friends in Europe,” Rautiainen said.
A friendship beyond instinct
In the wild, brown bears and gray wolves don’t cooperate. They compete. Both are predators at the top of the food chain, often clashing over carcasses and territory. Scientists have documented bears stealing kills from wolf packs and wolves banding together to harass bears.
But in this case, there was no hostility. For ten nights, the pair met up like clockwork, wandered together through the taiga, and even shared meals. They didn’t appear to hunt cooperatively, but they didn’t fight either. Rautiainen speculates they were young and possibly alone, navigating survival without the benefit of pack or family. In that shared vulnerability, they may have found solace.
Animal behaviorists say unusual interspecies bonds like this can occur when resources are abundant and social needs outweigh competition. It’s rare, but not unheard of. Coyotes have been known to partner with badgers. Ravens follow wolves and seem to form long-term associations. And in parts of India and Africa, big cats have even mothered young from different species.
Still, a wild wolf and bear choosing to spend time together, night after night, is almost unheard of. Rautiainen’s photos—quiet moments of the two lounging, playing, or pausing in the mist—suggest something more than survival. Something like trust.
That trust may not have lasted forever. There are no records of the friendship continuing beyond those summer nights. But what Rautiainen captured is powerful: a reminder that even the fiercest creatures aren’t immune to connection. That nature, despite all our data, can still surprise us.
And maybe, in a lonely forest, a wolf and a bear simply found a little peace.
“I talk to my dog incessantly… I’ll send an email… and then casually glance over at her and inquire, ‘Do you love your mom?!’” confesses writer Kate Mooney. She even imagines her pup’s replies in a comical tone.
If you’ve ever chatted with your cat about your day or greeted your dog with “Who’s a good boy?” in a squeaky voice, you’re not alone. One survey of physicians found many do it too. As one doctor admitted, “I used to think it was silly… but I have found that it’s an extremely hard habit to avoid. I think there’s something just simply natural about it.”
We dote on our animals with conversation, treating them like furry little people. But why do humans talk to pets as if they understand every word?
Hardwired for companionship and connection
Experts say this behavior is deeply rooted in our social and biological wiring. Humans are natural anthropomorphizers. We instinctively assign human-like minds to other creatures.
“Recognizing the mind of another human being involves the same psychological processes as recognizing a mind in other animals… It is a reflection of our brain’s greatest ability rather than a sign of our stupidity,” social psychologist Nicholas Epley explains (The Atlantic).
Seeing our pets as quasi-persons isn’t foolish at all. It’s a byproduct of an agile, social brain. Brain scans support this. The same medial prefrontal brain region that activates for human social thinking also lights up when we ponder what an animal—or even an object—might be thinking. We’re hardwired to seek connection and dialogue, even across species.
Talking to pets also just feels good. It’s practically second nature for many pet owners. The chatter provides comfort. It can combat loneliness and even be therapeutic, as Mooney notes (The Cut).
Psychologists say voicing our thoughts to an attentive, nonjudgmental pet can reduce stress and improve mood. Research shows that petting a dog lowers the stress hormone cortisol. Interaction between people and dogs increases levels of oxytocin—the same feel-good hormone involved in human bonding.
Oxytocin is the hormone that floods a parent’s brain while cradling a baby. Our pets trigger it too. “Those loving looks cause both dog and human brains to secrete the hormone oxytocin,” one study found, linking it to emotional bonds like those “between mothers and babies” (Smithsonian Magazine).
Just three minutes of gently petting and talking to a dog can send oxytocin levels soaring in both human and animal (GreyMatters Journal).
Our speech changes too. People naturally shift into a sing-song cadence, use playful pitch, and simplify words—basically, baby talk for animals. Linguists call this “pet-directed speech.” It closely resembles the infant-directed speech we use with babies.
We stretch our vowels, speak slowly, and repeat phrases like “Aren’t you the cutest?” in a high tone. It may seem silly, but it serves a purpose.
Speech interaction experiments show this kind of talk improves a dog’s attention and strengthens the human-animal bond (ScienceDaily). In one study, scientists found that “adult dogs were more likely to want to interact and spend time with the speaker that used dog-directed speech with dog-related content.”
A cheerful “Who wants a treat?” in a warm, excited tone engages your dog far more than a flat, adult-style remark.
Dogs also appear to recognize both our words and our tone. In a well-known neuroscience study, dogs were trained to lie still in an MRI scanner while listening to their owners.
The scans showed that dogs process meaningful words with the left side of their brains and vocal intonation with the right—just like humans. When a dog heard praise in a happy voice, its reward center lit up.
But if the tone and the words didn’t match—like enthusiastic delivery of meaningless words, or dull praise—the reward center stayed quiet.
“So dogs not only tell what we say and how we say it, but they can also combine the two, for a correct interpretation of what those words really meant,” says neuroscientist Attila Andics, who led the study.
Our pets, especially dogs, tune in to both the music and the meaning of our speech.
Culturally, humans have long talked to animals. From Aesop’s fables to TikToks of people bantering with their pets, the idea is woven into our history and imagination.
In many traditional societies, animals were seen as intelligent or spiritual beings. Speaking to them was natural. Today, we might chuckle at someone having a heart-to-heart with a goldfish, but it’s really an ancient impulse.
Most cultures have folktales with animals who act and talk like humans. Around the world, people routinely attribute human emotions and personalities to their pets.
In modern homes, pets are full-fledged family members. It’s common to celebrate a dog’s birthday or hear someone ask their cat which outfit to wear. Words like “fur baby” are part of everyday speech.
These imagined conversations make us feel closer to our animals. They’re also fun. Giving our pets imagined voices—maybe a snooty British cat or a goofy-sounding dog—adds richness to the relationship.
But beyond the playfulness, talking to pets has emotional value.
Our pets become confidants. No one understands my troubles like my dog,” one pet owner joked—and there’s truth in it.
We often share our worries and joys with pets because they listen without judgment. In lonely or stressful times, their presence can be deeply comforting.
Therapists say that speaking aloud to a pet can be a healthy form of social interaction, especially for people who live alone.
Your words may not mean much to your cat or dog, but the act of expressing yourself and being “heard”—even by a pair of kind eyes or twitching ears—can ease loneliness.
Many people believe their pets “know exactly how I feel.” That may be a stretch, but studies show that animals do pick up on our emotional tone and body language.
When you speak in a sad voice, your dog may nuzzle you, or your cat might curl up closer. That’s bonding, plain and simple.
Science and personal experience agree: there’s nothing odd about chatting with your pet.
“Humans slow their own speech when talking to their dogs, and this slower tempo matches their pets’ receptive abilities, allowing the dogs to better understand” what we’re saying.
We naturally adapt our language, like learning a bit of a cross-species dialect. And our pets respond with ear perks, tail wags, purrs, and head tilts.
Animal behaviorists say a friendly, melodic voice puts pets at ease—just like we use baby talk to bond with infants.
As Dr. Katie Slocombe, who researches dog communication, explains, using “dog-speak” is key in building a relationship. It’s similar to how baby talk fosters connection between parent and child (ScienceDaily).
Ultimately, talking to our pets shows just how social and empathetic humans can be. We’re driven to connect, to share our thoughts and feelings, even if our audience meows or barks instead of speaks.
Far from a quirky habit, it’s a sign of our imaginative brains and compassionate hearts.
As one scholar noted, seeing “personhood” in our pets reflects “our brain’s greatest ability”—imagining another’s mind—and it helps build one of life’s most meaningful bonds.
So the next time you ask your dog how her day was or tell your cat about your problems, don’t feel silly. It’s one of the most human things you can do.
