Unconditional Love

You won't get it from your spouse.  Oh, husbands and wives love each other, and there has been many a great love story throughout history.  But unconditionally?  We do a thousand little things that get on each other's nerves.  They start out small, but can snowball out of proportion in a hurry.  We push each other's buttons.  And there are those things said that shouldn't have been said, those things unsaid that should have been.  We get absorbed in our own worlds, and don't always listen or give our undivided attention.

We're human.

You won't get it from your parents or your children, either.  If you're a parent, you know that indescribable feeling when your child is born, or when you first bring your adopted child home.  But you also know the times they test you, try your patience.  If you don't pay attention to your kids, you'll be paid back in spades.  And hell hath no fury like a two-year-old that doesn't get what he or she wants.  As parents and children, we love deeply, but not unconditionally.

We're human.

No, the only two sources of unconditional love are God and dogs.  (Note the similarity?  Same three letters, different order.  Probably no coincidence.)

I've experienced both, but I'm not here to preach.  Let's talk about dogs.

We've had three miniature Schnauzers: Dominic, Kramer and Max.  Max is still with us and going strong at 14 years of age.  We had to say good-bye to Kramer (Max's litter mate) almost a year ago.  And Dominic, who we got a couple of years before Max and Kramer, died in my arms about four years ago.  Dom and Kramer were both blind in their later years, and Max is deaf.  Dominic struggled with diabetes, a couple of bouts of pancreatitis, and other issues, but before that he was the strongest, fastest, smartest dog we'd ever known.

All three of them have shown us the kind of love that only a dog can give.  They want you to play with them, pet them, pay attention to them.  If you're too busy (or just think you're too busy), they're still going to come to you later with the same expectant joy.  "Maybe this time you have time to play, or to sit a while with me on your lap?  Please?"

If my wife was crying, Dominic was in her lap, kissing away her tears.  Kramer was her little stalker, following her throughout the house constantly - so much so that she took to carrying him around in a shoulder bag so she could get household chores done, like a little marsupial dog.  And Max just wanted your hand on him - constantly.

So many times we let our dogs down, we disappoint.  Every time, they come back.  All is forgiven.  Then that day comes when we have to say good-bye, and we're filled with regret - just one more day, we pray.  But how many days did we spend doing our own thing, when we could have spent time with them?  And yet, as they're departing this world for the next, they don't accuse.  They just want us to be there for them in those last moments, our hands on them, hearing our voices one last time.

I could write a book about Dominic, Max and Kramer, but I want to talk about another dog today.  Because this dog perhaps embodies unconditional love more than any I've known.  See, we got our other three guys as pups.  They never knew a life without a nice home, cold days spent indoors, regular grooming, proper food and care, a big backyard, and plenty of love.  They never had to deal with neglect, never had a reason not to trust people.

Meet Charlie.

We brought him home today.  This is Charlie as he looked when we met him at his foster home two days ago:

Pretty happy, right?  Looks pretty good, right?

This is Charlie's "before" picture, taken by The Rescue Project as they found him:

Yes, it's the same dog.

Charlie is somewhere between five and eight years old, so we're told; we'll have a better idea when we take him to our vet next week.  Reportedly, he spent those years either chained in the back yard or in a kennel in the basement of his previous owner's home.

The amazing people at The Rescue Project found him a couple of weeks ago.  They are saints.  They go into the community looking for neglected/abused animals, and try to persuade the owners to surrender them.  In this case, the owner agreed to surrender Charlie (they called him Harley, but he just has that Charlie personality, don't you think?)

I'll give the owner a modicum of credit for that, but that's as far as I can go.  How anyone can neglect a pet to that degree is beyond my comprehension, or ability to forgive.

A wonderful groomer went to work on Charlie, and he got happier with each chunk of matted fur that came off.  When she was done, an adorable mini Schnauzer was unveiled.

He looks like Dominic, floppy ears and all.  He's a bit bigger than Max, like Dom was, and has the coarser coat that Dom had, instead of Max's soft fur.

He doesn't appear to have been abused, just neglected (as if neglect warrants the word "just").  He doesn't shy away from people.  When you reach out to pet him, he doesn't cower or growl.  The look on his face is expectant joy, anticipation of the connection dogs crave, not fear.  He doesn't know a stranger - he took to us immediately.

Now, here's the lesson in this:

You'd think it would be hard for a dog like Charlie to trust.  To expect attention, to give love that, in his experience, won't be given back.

Not Charlie.

He is unafraid to show his love and seek ours, fully expecting that we'll give it back.  He is trusting enough to let us pick him up, believing he'll be safe in our arms.  He's happy, and he's confident that he will remain so.  He believes in us, even though he only knows us as humans, and has no reason to believe in humans.

And he will be happy.  We'll earn his belief in us, even though he gives it freely without our having yet earned it.  This guy is going to have the home he's deserved from birth, for the rest of his life.  He'll go on walks, he'll roam a big back yard (with a fence to keep him safe - no more chains for Charlie), he'll chase squirrels and birds.  He'll look out the window and bark at everything that moves, master of all he surveys (just like Max).  Hopefully, he and Max will cuddle together, like Max and Kramer did.  Max already wants to play with him.

He'll learn to obey, because he wants to please, and wants to be a good dog (so at some point, he'll hopefully stop trying to mark every corner of the house).  He'll be well-fed (but not overfed), he'll receive the best medical care (shout out to the fine people at Camelot Court Animal Clinic).  He'll presumably sleep in his kennel, but I won't be surprised to find him in bed with us and Max.  I'll re-learn to sleep on a sliver of bed.

And he'll be loved.  He'll receive attention, he'll be cuddled and petted.  He'll be allowed on the furniture - he's family, after all.

But ...

He won't receive all the attention he craves.  His "Let's go for a walk!" looks will sometimes be met with indifference, as we're too busy, too preoccupied to take the time.  "Maybe later," we'll say.

And yet, the next day, even if we don't make good on our half-hearted promise, he'll be back at our feet with the same look on his face.  We'll feel guilt for not taking him yesterday, but all will be forgotten and forgiven as we clip on his leash.  He'll be perfectly happy to give us all of his love, in exchange for however much of ours we'll give.

He will love unconditionally, in other words.  And we will not.  Because we're human, and he is above that human condition.

But maybe, just maybe, as we consider how Charlie spent the first years of his life, we'll do a little bit better.  By him, by Max, and by each other.

And for that, we can thank Charlie.  Like all dogs, he'll have made the world - and the people in it - better for his having been in it.