More than a Pet.
Animals and support.
There’s something beautiful about people and animals communicating without words. About beings who understand each other’s presence and share their energy as a kind of language.
What is it about animals that draws so many of us in so deeply? Why does their quiet companionship and steady presence matter so much, especially for autistic people?
For many of us, animals aren’t just pets. They’re emotional anchors, sensory grounders, and non-judgemental companions in a world that often feels too loud, too fast, or too confusing.
I’ve been reminded of this lately—how much animals hold, how much they give, and how easily their presence can settle something that words can’t reach.
My husband and I found a connection through a shared reverence for animals. One of the first things I noticed about him was the way he gently moved bugs outside instead of squashing them, how he paused to care for creatures most people ignore. It told me everything I needed to know about his heart. Just the other day he rescued a drowning bee from a puddle, as if he were auditioning for the role of “gentle forest wizard” in a Studio Ghibli film.
That same quiet empathy lives in our sons. One of them was nicknamed the “chicken whisperer” at school. When he helped in the kitchen garden, the chickens would balance on his wrist like they’d been friends forever. Our other son has a gentler, more reserved relationship with animals. He never rushes toward them, he waits. He’ll sit quietly, leaving just enough space for a cat to decide on their own to curl up beside him. It’s less about taming, more about invitation. Each of them reminds me that empathy doesn’t always need words. Sometimes, it’s simply knowing how to hold space.
The other day, I was listening to a friend share a story about the importance of her dog. She spoke with deep love and gratitude about how he helps her stay regulated and listen to what her body needs. “He knows what I need before I do,” she said. “He keeps me safe.” He doesn’t just sit next to her, he centres her. He’s not just a companion. He’s a lifeline. A regulation partner. A steady presence in a world that can so easily feel too fast, too loud, too much.
Another friend’s family dog noticed I was becoming anxious and dysregulated before I even realised it myself. I was visiting my friend who has two dogs, one that was trained as an emotional assistance animal. When we were discussing a difficult subject my voice started to rise unconsciously, and her dog gently nudged me, reminded me to breathe, and helped me return to the present. It was a moving act of kindness, and it came from an unfamiliar animal.
And then there’s Cluck Norris. My friend’s daughter, who is autistic, was struggling with the school environment. But with Cluck, a small but mighty Polish chicken, tucked gently under her arm, she found the strength and support to walk through the doors again. (You might have seen their story on SBS Insight’s episode “It’s Just a Dog”, which looks at Australia’s attitude to pets and inclusion.)
Public spaces are starting to understand this, too. Elmo, an internationally accredited Facility Dog at Adelaide Airport, is part of a growing movement toward sensory-friendly spaces. Elmo is a trained assistance animal who supports travellers by offering calm, connection, and comfort in one of the most overwhelming environments imaginable. It’s a quiet but powerful recognition that sometimes the key to access isn’t architectural, it’s emotional.
More autistic people are finding ways to safely and confidently exist in a world that wasn’t built for us, and for many, animals make that possible. But even now, autistic people as well as others who rely on support animals can face doubt, discomfort, or even discrimination in public spaces.
The issue isn’t always hostility, it’s misunderstanding. Most people don’t know that a dog can be trained to sense rising anxiety, or that a chicken with a crazy crown of feathers can be the only reason a child feels safe enough to attend school.
Even well-meaning people sometimes judge what they don’t understand. That’s why it matters to tell these stories, to make visible what’s often hidden, and to remind people that support doesn’t always look how you expect.
If you see someone with an animal in a public space, a dog, cat, chicken or otherwise, pause before you judge.
Be kind. Be curious.
Understand that support looks different for everyone.
Speak up when you see someone being excluded.
Speak out when policy forgets invisible disabilities.
Advocate for inclusive spaces that treat sensory safety as essential, not optional.
Learn the rights and responsibilities around assistance animals.
And most of all, recognise that sometimes, the greatest support isn’t human. And that’s okay.
With love,
Sharon Claire
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