Life without animals around him was, for Dr. Schweitzer, scarcely a life worth living. He recorded their comings, goings and life events in his diary-scrapbooks along with those of his human friends. (Dr. Schweitzer lived only seven months after the authorities destroyed Lambarene' s dogs, cats and monkeys because of a rabies epidemic, thought to be spread by bats.)

Dr. Schweitzer was not without his favorites among his companion animals, appreciating not only their intelligence, but certain attributes of character usually ascribed to human beings.

From the very first, back home in Alsace, there were dogs, such as Phylax and Sultan. In Lambarene, over the years there were many favorites: Caramba, Amos, Porto, Hannibal, Cesar, Kimmy, and especially the white and tan mixed terrier, Tchu Tchu. She was the only dog allowed in the dining room, thus becoming the beneficiary of table tidbits.
Likewise, the cats played an important role in his life -- even a domineering one. Sizi sat on his desk as he wrote, often falling asleep on his left arm, which, of course, he dared not move. This went on for 23 years. Sizi had been rescued by Dr. Schweitzer when she was a kitten after he heard her plaintive "meow" under the floor of a building under construction. (He was constantly expanding his village, making room for more patients, their families, and for the increasing number of doctors and nurses.)

Another cat, Piccolo, took her siestas on papers piled on Dr. Schweitzer's desk. Should they be in urgent need of his signature for immediate dispatch, well, too bad.
The more exotic animal companions (that is, exotic to Europeans) were the native monkeys, gorillas, chimpanzees, pelicans, antelope. Monkeys abounded.

One of these monkeys was cared for by his Canadian friend and translator, Mrs. C.E.B. Russell. They called the monkey "Canada." Once, when Dr. Schweitzer and Mrs. Russell were in St. Nicholas Church in Strasbourg, Alsace, Dr. Schweitzer concluded a private organ concert of several Bach preludes and fugues with an improvised offering to the far-distant "Canada." For them both, wrote Mrs. Russell, it brought back Africa.

Orphaned or injured young gorillas and chimpanzees presented more of a problem. Most of these were brought to the hospital village by hunters (not necessarily out of sympathy since they usually had killed their mothers) because they knew that Dr. Schweitzer would reimburse them, as he did all who brought other helpless young creatures to him.

Raised like children -- especially the chimpanzee, Fifi, and gorillas, Penelope and Peter -- they became too strong and unpredictable to live free in the compound. They were too unsophisticated in the ways of the jungle to be returned to the wild.
Regretfully, the only alternative: zoological gardens. In all, thirteen gorillas went to zoos from Lambarene. They were accompanied sometimes by a Lambarene friend such as Dr. Schweitzer's daughter, Rhena, to help make the trip and transition easier.
He was especially partial to gorillas. But he advised all who entered the forest territory of these powerful (now increasingly rare) primates to treat them with utmost respect.

The intelligence and close resemblance of pigs to human beings was not wasted on Dr. Schweitzer. He gave a home to a series of Red River hogs -- all called Thekla, for an obscure operatic character. The first Thekla was brought to the hospital compound as a scrawny piglet. Not only did she respond in weight gain to tender loving care, she became something of a "problem child." Mischievous, she seized every opportunity to become a one-pig hurricane: romping about madly, knocking against doctors, nurses, furniture, killing chickens, even snatching food from patients and their families. Threats were made on her life. Penning up did no good. She would dig out. Reluctantly, Dr. Schweitzer sent her to the London Zoo. When he visited her there years later, he called her name and she recognized him. Clearly, the loss of Thekla left an empty space in his heart. As he had to her, he often sang succeeding young Theklas to sleep with the gentle Brahms Lullaby.

Music and animals merged time and time again, most pronouncedly so with the arrival of three orphaned fledgling pelicans -- brought in for money by the hunter who killed their mother. They were named for the German composer, Richard Wagner's legendary Tristan, Lohengrin and Parsifal. As soon as they were trained to live as pelicans, two of them joined passing pelicans and flew away -- but not Parsifal. He decided to become Dr. Schweitzer's night watchman, taking up his perch outside the doctor's quarters, permitting no one to pass. He became such a presence at the hospital that Dr. Schweitzer wrote a small book, A Pelican Talks About His Life, in which Parsifal tells his life story. If "M. le Pelican," as he came to be known, was a formidable presence, more so, a turkey who guarded the lane to the outdoor toilet, pecking at the legs of passersby.

Dr. Schweitzer asked people entering the hospital village by car to respect the ducks, geese and chickens. He erected a large sign with their pictures and the admonition to "Drive slowly." He always carried in his pocket a very small cloth bag of grain and rice so that he could pause and feed various fowl. This could have been the reason that one red hen took a special fancy to Dr. Schweitzer. She even insisted on spending the night in his room, but when she decided to bring a chicken friend, Dr. Schweitzer shooed them both away.

Among the gentlest and most beloved of his animal companions were the graceful antelope, each raised from infancy and housed close to Dr. Schweitzer's living quarters. The list was long: Lucie, Leonie, Theodore, Pamela, Caro, Erica -- each an individual. During his later years, he would often take an evening stroll with Leonie and Theodore.

Dr. Schweitzer often mentioned that having so many animals at Lambarene served some practical purposes, as well as providing amusement such as the sight of a goat using a cellar door as a sliding board. The animals supplied valuable fertilizer for enriching the earth.

Not a day passed that Dr. Schweitzer did not spare some small non-human life -- just as he saved the lives and eased the pain of patients. A bee that mistakenly had flown indoors would be captured by an inverted drinking glass, a cardboard slipped beneath it, and released. He would step aside rather than needlessly crush an ant, a beetle, a worm. When tadpoles were left in small pools -- separated from the river on the receding tide -- he would open up a passageway to take them back to the river.

When constructing new buildings, Dr. Schweitzer was careful to avoid injury to small creatures that might be in the way. A hospital built to save lives certainly should not be built on a foundation of death and suffering.

This consideration -- so far as practicable -- extended to all other life forms: flowers, plants, trees. The only real pleasure he received from floral tributes sent him frequently when abroad was derived from the kind thoughts behind the gesture. In Lambarene he advised patients, staff and visitors not to cut the flowers. Not only would he move a new road to save an orange tree, he once transplanted a grove of palm trees.

Dr. Schweitzer lived his philosophy each day of his life. Whenever called on to make a life or death judgment, he considered each case separately, always hoping that the continuation of life could be justified.
Nature was constantly repaying man, Dr. Schweitzer believed, by offering its own beauty to lift the sorrowful heart. For those persons seeing only the dark side of life, Albert Schweitzer had a few words: