What if you woke up one day and this example of absolute, rip your heart out, innocence didn't exist? Â Would you miss them? Â
Why is there no hall of fame for pets? Â Or how about the Nobel Prize? Â Why don't we ever hand those out to our beloved four legged friends? Did Air Bud or Snoopy not make as big of an impact on our lives as Martin Luther King or Ghandi? Â I think I speak for the entire population that successfully made it through sixth grade when I say that Old Dan and Little Ann left a mark on my soul. Â Black Beauty brought my nine year old self to tears and if you can make it through all of Homeward Bound without tearing up when Shadow falls into the mud pit just before reaching his beloved Peter or cheering when you finally see him descend over the hill, limping right behind Chance, then you can stop reading now and go check out a self help book on how to unlock your emotions. Â This article isn't for the heartless, thank you very much.
There are three types of pictures that my mom took of me as a kid. Â The first kind, I'm featured stuffing my face, a very flattering collection, I might add. Â The second, I am rebelling against her request to smile for yet another picture by making an overdramatic face in hopes that I can make her laugh. Â I wanted my outgoing confidence and tenacity documented from a young age. Â The third category of pictures is made up of me with one of our pets. Â When I was born, we had three cats and soon after my arrival we purchased a Golden Retriever for Father's day, even though the dog really was more for the three of us kids than for my dad. Â We grew up together, the Golden Retriever and I. Â The trials of puppyhood and toddlerhood go hand-in-paw so easily, so we traversed the eras together.
Hand-in-Paw we go into this life, so many of us, and yet when conversations of role models and inspirational figures, those that have touched our lives in such ways that we have deemed them worthy enough to discuss at great length, we never talk about the ones who could understand us sometimes better than anyone else, all without being able to speak to us in a language we could reciprocate. Â
I recently finished reading a book called The Art of Racing in the Rain and if you haven't read it and want to gain some more respect for the dog you can't be bothered to play with at the end of a long work day, when you choose to watch three hours of Greys Anatomy instead of walking him/her outside, I recommend that you check it out at your local library. Â It's worth it. Â In the hopes that you'll take my suggestion, I won't spoil the plot, but the brief overview of the book is the inner monologues of a dog through his life with his human family. Â He describes the human condition with a fresh and unbiased perspective and by the end of the book has convinced the reader that if humans only paid attention to their dogs a little more, they would see who was really wiser when it comes to love, generosity, compassion, empathy--you know, the hard stuff.
Of course there's always the argument that dogs dig diapers out of the trash--my Golden Retriever was guilty of this--and that they will spend an hour looking for a snowball you threw into a mound of fresh powder. Â People will point at these, expecting them to be sufficient enough evidence to convince me that dogs are dumber than humans. Â But I would like to point out that humans eat laundry detergent and cinnamon and choke on too many marshmallows for the sake of social media entertainment, so who really won this round? Â
Hear me out, cynics; I'm not trying to negate human's intelligence. We can be a very smart species (complete with opposable thumbs, much to our furry friend's chagrin), however we are also an extremely narrow-minded species that has a tendency to underestimate the importance of something that we don't understand completely. Â
How many of you out there have had a dog or a cat or a horse or a snake (how you can believe that something deadly and scaly can be just as cuddly as Milo and Otis, I'll never understand but hey, to each his own I guess) or any other kind of pet that has had an impact on your life? Â Don't tell me there haven't been moments when you've found solace in just talking to your dog when there was no one there to listen. Don't tell me he or she didn't know exactly how you felt in that moment and what to do to make you feel better. Â Don't tell me you didn't look into their eyes, those french-window-big eyes and hear them say to you 'I get it. I'm here for you,'. Â And isn't that all we want in this world? Isn't that what we're looking for when making new friends or trying to discern if he/she is the one? Â
I think we forget about that because we are such a response-weighted society. Â We say something and we want a reaction. We want advice, we want proof that whoever we are talking to was listening. Â We don't value the act of listening anymore. Â But that's exactly what animals do for us. Â They are an audience that always hears what you have to say. Â And sure, they can't tell you in words you can understand what you should do when you're not sure if he's into you or if you should ask out that girl at work or how you're supposed to feel when Mom and Dad drop the news that you'll be spending Christmas with one and your birthday with the other. Â But they always listen, don't they?Â
Sue Monk Kidd says, "There is no pain on Earth that doesn't crave a benevolent witness." and how much more benevolent can you get than someone who couldn't be happier that their sole purpose in life is to be there for you, to love you unconditionally, even if that means you never understand them completely?Â
Ok, well maybe the above sentiment is not always true for cats. They're the greedy psychiatrists of the animal world--if they're not on the clock, they don't care what you have to say.