My youngest son, Rowan, has always been fascinated with animals. He loved them — any kind of animal was his friend. If his world were only animals, he’d thrive. Something in his simple autistic mind clicks when an animal is near. He almost communicates with them, and they with him. Our dogs always guarded him, always gentle. Rowan used to sit under the kitchen table with Roxy and try to twist her legs together. She did absolutely nothing and let him play.
Unfortunately, he didn’t know fear. One day in the yard, he was playing in a sandpile while I was in the garden. I heard him call out, “Come here, boy, it’s ok.” I looked up but didn’t see what he was talking to. A few minutes later he called again, so I got up. What I saw had my heart pounding out of my chest. About fifty yards away stood a mangy, hungry coyote. Rowan thought it was a dog. I grabbed him and went inside. I rarely let him play outside again.
Then his imagination really took off. He insisted a T‑Rex lived in the woods behind the house. He truly believed it, claiming he saw it when he looked out the window. He named it Littlefoot, after his favorite movie series Land Before Time. He was constantly trying to get me to bring dinosaur food so he didn’t have to go look for it.
There was also a shark that lived in the bathtub drain, named Bruce. No clue where that came from. He claimed it came up for air in the potty sometimes. He wouldn’t ask to use the bathroom — he’d ask to go talk to Bruce. And he would, full conversations. One voice for the shark, one for himself. It was hysterical.
We used a daily log book to communicate between school and home. Rowan couldn’t tell me anything about his day beyond “I did nothing.” His teachers sent notes about what he did, and I sent notes about his nights. A few times they mentioned Fluffy the cat. It didn’t make sense, so I ignored it. One day his teacher asked how many pets Rowan actually had. Confused, I told him we only had our dog — and he knew her name. Then he asked about Fluffy. I told him we didn’t have a cat, and he laughed.
Apparently Rowan went to school every day telling stories about what he and Fluffy did the night before. He had the teacher completely convinced Fluffy was real.
I told him about Rowan’s imaginary pets — the dinosaur, the shark, the snake in the garden. We both had a good laugh and agreed: with Rowan, you’d better double‑check before believing anything.
Still standing, still hearing stories of the pets only he can see,
K.
