When I lived in rural Hillsboro, Missouri, I enjoyed a myriad of wildlife from deer, raccoons, opossums, chipmunks, to a huge variety of birds, including pileated woodpeckers. I fed them all. Rarely, usually in early April, I would enjoy seeing one or two "tropically orange" orioles. The last year I spent in Hillsboro, while I was outside with my dogs on the deck, I heard a bird singing directly behind me. I turned around and an oriole was on the deck post looking right at me and singing. I felt incredibly astounded as he finished his personal greeting to me before he flew home.
I loved spending time working in the yard. I had a culvert near the private road that I spent considerable time coercing into a naturalized but civilized oasis. One day I noticed a snake basking in the sun not far from where I was working. I stayed put, as he did and enjoyed the company. The next time I was out working in the general vicinity, but in a different section of the culvert, I saw the snake return to lay not far from me. I said a few, quiet words to him and he stayed. I saw the snake on a regular basis during the summer whenever I spent time in what must have been "his" space.
The following winter, my 12-1/2 year old Golden Retriever, Leo, was dying of cancer. The night before I knew it was time for his last ride to the vet, I stayed with him, on the deck, in the falling snow, as the cold made his breathing easier. Across the street stood a family of deer watching us until headlights chased them away. Then a resident chipmunk scampered down the tree, stopped at our eye level as if to say goodbye while the raccoons I fed watched from a nearby tree. Earlier that day a squirrel ran into Leo while he was in the yard. The wildlife we shared space with "knew" and were saying "goodbye" to my beloved Leo.