Jessie after Hurricane Wilma, 2005
Nigel & his binky Los tres amigos
Noah’s final day at the beach Noah teaching Nigel how to travel
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We love you.
Period. No conditions, no post scripts. No second thoughts. You can be whatever you want to be and that’s fine with us. Fine as long as we aren’t abused or compromised in terms of our own safety. It’s our only condition.
We flow with the fluctuations of your moods, your perceptions, your beliefs. We’ll play when you want to play with us and we’ll bug you when you want to sleep or work or whatever.
Like you, some of us have issues, especially if we’re rescues. We know our own history, personally and collectively, but the only way we can communicate it to you humans is through our behavior. So those of us who misbehave at the dog park – jumping up on you, mounting your dogs, starting fights – well, we’re acting out, we don’t intend harm.
We know you guys don’t think we can communicate with each other, but we have our own language. Sometimes you detect it when a dog has a ball that we want and our bark is insistent, constant – C’mon, share! C’mon, give it to me! Other times, you detect it in our howls, growls, snarls, our wild, carefree barking. You also detect it when you’re watching TV and one of those Golden Retriever ads come on where the Goldens are driving the Suburu and, well, we react.
According to an article in the Smithsonian, we’re all descended from wolves and that it happened some 20,000 to 40,000 years ago.
I don’t think our conscious memories go back quite that far, but our deeper, collective memories do. I can’t let you in on all that since those really deep memories are closely guarded. But I can tell you this: you would not have survived without us and we wouldn’t be what we are today without you.
Symbiosis.
Love. Unconditional.
And here’s what’s telling in terms of American politics: trump is the only prez in years who hasn’t had a dog in the white house.
Great post! I come from a long line of cat ladies (mother, me, daughter), but we feel the same. Life would not be worth living without my sympathetic, talkative feline pals. Recently I had the flu……….every night I woke up to find Lucy on the pillow literally on the top of my head, and Lulu curled up into my shoulder. Phoebe and Mr. Grey, outdoor cats, had taken up station by the door. Now if that isn’t love and concern, I don’t know what is.
True about trump, but he is a sociopath, so of course he can’t comprehend an animal. Such creatures are too evolved for a lowlife like him. I wonder if he ever managed to have a worm farm for a pet?
We have 2 cats, too, each very different, and Nigel adores them. Glad you recovered from the flu, Lauren! And had feline guardians at the gates.
Anyone who can’t love animals is missing a crucial piece of their soul. No wonder trump is such a miserable bastard; selfish and self-centered. He probably never had a pet in his unhappy formative years, either, which proves that all the money in the world can’t buy happiness.
Amen!