Can Animals Forgive Us?
Animals have mastered unconditional love.
They love us.
They forgive us.
They love us for exactly who we are and exactly where we are.
They see our wounds. They understand our limitations. They see our struggles.
And what I experience from animals again and again is something humans have a much harder time offering one another:
No judgment.
Just love.
My Super Pug
Bandit, AKA Super Pug, came to live with us when he was about eight years old.
My stepson’s friend’s parents didn’t want him anymore and were going to take him to a shelter.
They had wanted to breed him.
Bandit apparently wasn’t having any of that.
So they had no use for him anymore.
We took him in.
He was filthy. He smelled awful. His ears were so badly infected they were swollen shut.
To put it nicely, he was a mess.
Bandit hadn’t been cared for the way he deserved.
He hadn't been loved unconditionally.
He had been loved conditionally.
Perform, and we keep you.
Don’t, and we have no use for you.
And yet this sweet boy became my soul dog.
Bandit loved.
Oh, how he loved.
He loved with everything he had.
He Remembered, But He Didn't Hate
Bandit didn't come to us untouched by what had happened to him.
He was terrified of hangers.
I have no doubt someone had not been kind to him with a hanger.
He remembered.
His body remembered.
He was smart enough to be wary.
But what I never saw in that sweet, beautiful heart was hatred or malice.
He didn't spend his new life consumed by what had happened in his old one.
He loved the life that was in front of him.
There is a difference between remembering something that hurt us and continuing to live inside that hurt.
Bandit taught me that.
Then There Are My Regrets
In my 40s and 50s, I worked a lot.
A whole lot.
Sixty or seventy hours a week.
I traveled often. I worked late. I worked weekends.
And when I was home?
I worked.
Sweet Bandit never held a grudge.
He didn't sulk.
He didn't pout.
He waited patiently until I had enough space to really see him.
And when I finally did?
There he was.
Ready to love me.
Every. Single. Time.
The regrets about those years are mine.
I wish I had worked less.
I wish I had slowed down more.
I wish I had understood then what I understand now.
But Bandit wasn't keeping score.
He took the love I was able to give him and received it gratefully and enthusiastically every single time.
Said No Dog Ever
Animals live so beautifully in the present moment.
Remember when Mom stepped on my paw last week? I'm going to be mad about that for a really long time.
Said no dog ever.
Humans, though?
Oh, we're good at holding on.
We hold onto hurt.
Pain.
Anger.
Regret.
We stuff it down and let it settle into our bones.
We let it affect our health, our relationships, and the way we move through the world.
Something happened twenty years ago and we think we're completely over it.
Then the right trigger comes along and—
BAM.
There it is.
Like it happened yesterday.
I probably could have skipped about seven years of therapy if I had just taken the lead from Bandit.
You May Be Wondering…
Does my animal forgive me for the things I wish I had done differently?
What I have experienced from animals is extraordinary compassion for our humanity.
They see more than the mistake.
They see our wounds.
Our limitations.
Our struggles.
And they know our love.
That doesn't mean animals don't remember frightening or painful experiences. Bandit certainly did.
It doesn't mean their experiences don't affect them.
But perhaps forgiveness doesn't require pretending something never happened.
Perhaps it means not allowing yesterday to take today away from us.
Bandit seemed to understand that long before I did.
That happened before.
Today is a new day.
This moment is mine.
I can love now.
There's that mastery of unconditional love I was talking about.
Thanks, Bandit, my sweet smooshie-faced fella.
You sure did show me how to forgive.
It just took me a few years to slow down enough to see it.
I love you, boy.
May you see the world through the eyes of love, remembering that we are all part of one living, sacred whole.
