I think about the common human refrain, we don’t deserve dogs. And I largely agree. To see a dog staring wistfully out a window, to watch one get yanked around by the neck when a leash is latched onto a too-tight color, is to remember that our species has a perverse relationship with power. But then I remember that it doesn’t have to be this way. We could be generous stewards, more interested in nurturing and understanding our companions than domesticating our dependents. We could notice interesting smells in the wind and curiously walk every single block in our cities, glad to be moving, content with another day unfolding exactly as it is.
I tend to agree that we don’t deserve good things, but then I wonder what that says about me. And what it says about the way I was raised. I do quite literally everything I can to make sure Hank has a good life, and I believe he does the same for me. Maybe we do deserve each other. And if that’s true, then we could both feel more grateful and focus more on belly rubs today than the fear of what might happen tomorrow.