For many of us, the holidays are a chance to get together with our human and companion animal family and catch up on much-needed rest. In the global North, despite the melancholic embrace of chilly nights and short days, we know that winter has its own place and the wheel of the year its own logic - that many of the seeds fallen from their stalks in late summer must weather a frost to sprout again the following spring. 

For some, though, this awareness is inadequate to quell the darkness that creeps in around this time of year. For those who have lost family, or have complicated or nonexistent relationships with family, or whose chosen family does not fit the prevailing cultural mold of two heterosexual parents with biological children, holidays can bring up feelings of isolation and estrangement from the dominant culture. For many across the globe, of course, there is this December no hope of enjoyment, holiday or otherwise, due to the all-consuming task of surviving amid brutal conflict and worsening climatic changes. 

And it goes without saying that the holidays are no picnic for the millions of animals killed for our meals during this season, one that is particularly deadly for inquisitive, charismatic turkeys and intelligent, friendly pigs. And while the holidays may bring reprieve for companion animals adopted or purchased as gifts, that reprieve is temporary for those animals who are returned to the shelter or breeder soon after the holidays, once the reality of training and caring for a wayward youngster overtakes the adorable novelty.

Animals killed for food are only the most visceral example of the malady that underlies our holiday depression and our yearlong feelings of estrangement. Beneath it all, and also driving accelerating destruction of the climate and our fellow species, is our focus on acquiring and displaying things, rather than embracing and deepening connections. During the holidays, consumer marketing - which depends on our feelings of deep disquiet so that we buy something to fill the void - goes into overdrive. We purchase so that our lives measure up to the perfection displayed in advertising; we cook the holiday turkey because successful marketing by the poultry industry has conditioned an emotional response so that the turkey becomes synonymous with the feelings of family, connection, and abundance that constitute our true hearts’ desire. 

These emotional associations can be difficult to cast off, especially for those of us laboring under family traditions and expectations. But even small efforts to forge a more meaningful path are worthwhile. It goes without saying that the variety of meat substitutes made of tofu, gluten, and other plant proteins has exploded in recent years, although detractors claim that these choices are highly processed and highly dependent on fossil fuels. But spinach, broccoli, purple potatoes and winter squash are nutritious whole foods whose production had a much smaller environmental impact. Many of our favorite holiday side dishes can be a meal in themselves, once we reject the marketing of a meat industry determined to sell us on protein we don’t need.

Creating meaningful new traditions can itself take the place of the consumerism we have relied on to make us whole for the holidays. What if our focus shifted from things, to experiences? From the buying and presenting of gifts, to the preparation of a plant-based meal or the enjoyment of a holiday nature walk? Experiences that place us in nature, as part of the vast, interconnected web of life that surrounds and sustains us, can work profoundly to counter the isolation we experience as the objects of relentless marketing.

Yet our pursuit of connection can also lead us astray. Our yearning for connection with the nonhuman world may naturally find expression in acquiring an animal who lives in our homes with us, as a bridge to the vast nonhuman world outside our doors. Our companion animals are a reminder of the biophilia that naturalist E.O. Wilson defined as our innate tendency to seek connection with nature. 

This longing is a profound holdover from times when we lived closer to nature, and a pathway back to that connection. But it is also increasingly exploited by those who seek only their own profit. Commercial pet breeders have discovered the enormous marketing opportunity of selling “designer” puppies online with minimal scrutiny or accountability. “Doodles'' and similar mixes are marketed as “hypoallergenic” and “great family pets,” which are myths and sometimes outright lies about dogs bred in puppy mills with little or no attention to early socialization or the health of the parents. The resulting significant rise in designer crossbreed ownership has fed the increasingly dire situation in animal shelters today. In addition to the fact that each dog purchased means a shelter dog not adopted, many of these dogs will end up in shelters themselves once their owners learn of the substantial cost and challenges of maintaining a poorly socialized dog who needs regular grooming.

We can fight back against the scourge of commercial breeding by seeking animal companionship through a shelter or rescue, where a bit of searching will reward us with most any breed we might desire. Or, we can embrace a "designer dog" more commonly known as a mutt, whose health, socialization and trainability likely exceeds those of puppies sold by breeders. We can recognize that "hypoallergenic" dogs are another myth born of marketing, and invest the thousands we would have spent on buying and grooming a dog from a breeder, on regular baths and a decent vacuum cleaner to protect sensitive family members from our shelter dog’s dander. We can seek out information from anyone who has ever had a puppy, and realize that from shoes left unchewed to pee stains avoided, we are better off with a young adult dog who is a bit more mature but still highly trainable and full of vitality.

This holiday season, I am mourning the recent loss of two beloved rescue dogs who I fostered as young adults, but who ended up growing old with me. I’ll be taking it easy with my surviving senior while remembering all our years of cuddling and hiking and exploring stunning landscapes together. Soon, I'll be taking an older foster dog who will fill my holiday and the weeks thereafter with joy, before a loving, permanent home comes along and I get ready to take on the next. 

I can relate to the melancholy of the season, as many of my elders have passed on and our family meals have gotten smaller. There won’t be my mom’s delicious cookies, or my deaf dog’s incredibly loud snores. But there will be the fulfillment of celebrating with my people and animals, and knowing that in small ways we are creating a holiday that radiates out peace, joy, and connection to a world that desperately needs them.