That Comes from Loving Puppies
Last Christmas, my daughter Thalia gave me a journal. Her request was simple: she asked me to write down my reflections and whatever “wisdom” I’ve gathered over the years. I plan to give it back to her this coming December, filled with the thoughts I hope will serve her well.
As I’ve sat with this journal, my mind hasn’t gone to business strategies or grand philosophies. Instead, it has drifted back to the floor of our home, reflecting on a younger Thalia and her “zoo.”
I see her pouring an overwhelming volume of love into Blu, JoJo, Bruiser, Rusty, Pippa, and Maui. I see the tea parties, the prams, and Happy the rabbit. I see her reading stories to them as if they held the secrets of the universe, or crawling into a massive dog bed just to be near a sleeping friend.
Watching her, I realised she was practising a type of love that is entirely innocent. It is a love that lacks that “adult voice”—the one that keeps score, judges, and tries to tear things down. When a puppy had an accident on the rug or chewed a favourite shoe, Thalia didn’t withdraw. She didn’t label the dog a failure. She saw the mess as a natural part of a beautiful, growing life. She offered a warm hug and kept right on going.
The Lessons of Scarlet
Writing these notes for Thalia has helped me remember how to love myself, too. It took me back to my first puppy, Scarlet– he was an Irish Setter who became my best friend.
Scarlet was far from “perfect.” I remember the joy of his antics—the way he’d stand up like a person to open the back door, or how he’d sneakily lick the cream off my mum’s cakes while they were cooling on the counter. I remember him lying by the fire, farting so badly that we all had to evacuate the room.
Yet, every one of those moments was filled with love. We didn’t demand he be a different dog; we loved him for the stolen cream and the chaos. He taught me that you don’t have to be “well-behaved” to be worthy of a place by the fire.
