Growing up, we always had dogs. Dogs that were treated like family, dogs that were always welcomed in every room, on every type of furniture, dogs that were spoken to like people in a human tongue.
I'd say our dogs would say the same about us... that their humans were treated like one of the pack. Each individual ranked and sorted in the traditional pack way. Communicating with us in an unwritten, but highly understood, canine vocabulary of soft whimpers and various pitches of barks and howls.
It's this relationship that has been cultivated for thousands of years. I often wonder when the once symbiotic relationship between man and dog grew to be more? When did they become more than just dogs? When did dogs become therapy for our human condition?
I can't count the number of times I've talked to my dog. Sharing secrets I wouldn't dare tell another human soul. Sharing heartbreak, leaning on their furry shoulder, crying my eyes out. Introducing them to our baby sons and daughters and seeing in their eyes that they understood their pack had grown.
The pain of losing them.... indescribable hurt.
As I sit here typing away these little thoughts, Mac, lays on the floor next to me. Not by accident, laziness or requirement. He just wants to be near me. If I get up, he follows. Always feeling my mood, inspecting my motions, looking for an approving touch.
The other day I was talking to my mom about her dog, Tucker. Tucker is Mac's brother. Great Pyrenees from the same litter. Like most brothers, they are very different. I forget what my mom was saying about Tucker. Most likely telling me how he was being spoiled by extra food or the abundance of treats. Whatever it was, I ignorantly blurted out: "Mom, he's just a dog". As the words escaped my lips, I was ashamed. They have never been "Just dogs". They will never be "Just dogs".
-Mike