Another love letter to my dog


Do you ever look at your dog and wonder how anyone ever gave you responsibility over such a vibrant creature? I suppose it might be different if you have children. No doubt one’s feelings of overwhelm at the sight of offspring supersede those that bubble up upon gazing at one’s dog.

I assume.

However, among us childless souls, am I alone in my awe? How am I, an imperfect, at times bewildered and unfinished, adult trusted with the life of a breathing animal? Who decided I was capable?

Sometimes, when I look at Shiva, I can’t help but be stunned that she is still here, still thriving, that I haven’t done anything to screw her up. Well, not too much.

I soak all of her in. Her rough foot pads, her muscled shoulders, her expectant eyes, her folded ears, her sugar-dipped muzzle, and her cold nose. Her teeth are as hard as they are gentle while they brush my fingers, her soft tongue seeking the last trace of peanut butter on my thumb. Our relationship is intimate and yet, I have no idea what goes on in her mind. Why does she trust me so? Why does she tolerate my restriction of her liberty?

These dogs, they are special. They are much wiser, much more enlightened than we will ever be. How did such lowly humans ever get so lucky?

5 thoughts on “Another love letter to my dog

  1. I totally agree. I feel the soul and life of an animal is equally important to that of a human. If anyone argues with me then I just say, “Who said that we are better or more important? Man said? How are we actually more important, how is it that we think our life matters more than that of an animal’s life? Who made those rules? Man made those rules. A life is a life. One is not more meaningful than another.”
    I feel Barry is just as important as I am. I feel he is equally as precious as any child. I know Barry doesn’t judge, hate, revolt, or feel sorry for himself as most people I know do. That, to me, makes him a slightly better creature than the human creature.


  2. Hi Kristine, most people who have dogs, love them, to varying degrees. There are people who abruptly ask my dad, “What happened to your dog?” My dad usually replies, depending on the tone of the question, “What do you mean?”, then he asks me, “What happened to you Sam?”. I usually just look at my dad and smile. My dad then looks at the person, shrugs his shoulders, smiles and then we walk off together. Then my dad kisses my head. Gives me a treat and we keep going. It’s good to love your dog and to ignore the stupids.


  3. I often wonder how I ended up with my dog. I’ve often wondered what I did to deserve such a loving companion. Then I remember she’s a dog, and they’re just brilliant loving beings.


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