Steve Lundeberg

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been drawn to animals. If you’re not an animal person, it would be hard for me to explain to you how that works, but I’ve always had a strong affection for them and connection to them, and it pretty much seems to work both ways.

For example, there have been multiple occasions where, after a female acquaintance has told me her dog didn’t like men, the dog would pretty much walk right up to me and make friends.

And pretty much every time I go to a pet owner’s house for an interview, the animal will end up either on my lap or lying on its back at my feet as I pet its stomach.

Or, as was the case last Tuesday, up on my shoulders.

Ph0tographer Mark Ylen and I had driven to the Holley area to look over the scene of the unsolved 1965 slaying of a man named Harvey Hamilton (a story on the case went online late Saturday night and is in Sunday’s paper).

As we walked back toward my pickup, a little black and white cat appeared and headed straight toward me. I bent down to pet her and talk to her, then picked it her up, and she promptly climbed to a position behind my neck, where she remained while I visited with the man who now owns the property where the killing took  place.

Mark squeezed off this photo of my new buddy and me:

She never did try to get down; in fact, when it was time for Mark and I to go, she dug her claws into my jacket as I tried to gently direct her onto the tailgate of my truck.

As previously noted, some of you aren’t animal people, and most of you likely aren’t animal people to the degree that I am. I accept that; not everyone’s heart and soul are stirred by the same things.

Nevertheless, I do figure that the way a person deals with animals — and children and older people — is a pretty important barometer. That is, you can tell a lot about someone by how he treats dogs, cats, kids and senior citizens.

Myself, I like all of those groups, and I consider it a blessing that they like me too.

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