If you find a shivering, starving dog, take him home to your 
hearth and make him prosperous, he will not bite you if you
attempt to pick him up. This is the main difference between
 a man and a dog.” ~ Mark Twain
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The aspect of life I’ve struggled with most is forgiveness. 
I can’t seem to let go of slights, slings, and arrows, even 
when they occurred decades ago. Growing up, I had a 
stepfather who drank heavily and regularly used me as a 
punching bag. He was a big man, an ex-football player, and
I was no match for him. I still think of him, and when I do, 
I become infused with anger, adrenaline, and a sense of 
power. It’s intoxicating, but later, there is always an 
emotional hangover. I’m aware that I would be much 
happier if I didn’t allow him to live rent-free in my head. 
There are others who reside up there, big, small, and 
sometimes imagined. These resentments are poisonous 
and feed into a ruinous victim mentality.  Friends have 
advised, “They’re not doing it to you, they’re just doing it”, 
“Your feelings have no effect on the offender, they only hurt
 you”, “I look back but I don’t stare.” They are all right. I do 
stare, and I do take everything personally. I’m trying to 
change but not all the way there yet.

In contrast, my dog Baby is a natural and instant forgiver. 
She’s on the small side and occasionally I trip over her. She
 reacts with fear and alarm and looks at me with a hurt 
expression that says, “How could you do that, I thought you
 were my friend.”  She has no way of knowing it wasn’t 
intentional, but with some soft-voiced apologizing and 
reassurance, she has forgiven me in mere moments. When
 Baby was rescued she had been abused, and for a long 
time after she was wary and frightened of men. A few years
 later that fear is gone. Baby is now comfortable in her own
 fur. But she also suffers from separation anxiety, which is 
on display whenever I have to leave home without her, 
sometimes for lengthy car trips. Baby always knows ahead
 of time, she sulks and protests, tipping over her food bowl,
 and she hides when it’s time to say goodbye. When I return
 home, there is never a trace of anger, moodiness, or 
resentment. She’s just beyond overjoyed to be reunited. 
She’d be doing hand flips if she had hands. 


There is much I can and do learn from my dog.  She is, in 
a way, my sensei. At times I wish I was Baby, and perhaps 
Baby wishes she were me, but that’s probably a stretch. 
When I think about the differences between man and dog, 
a few thoughts occur (I am clearly biased);

MAN DOG

Immunity from dealing with life’s issues such as taxes, jobs,
and divorce.

Exquisite sensitivity and instincts bordering on clairvoyance.

Practitioners of love and loyalty.

Extraordinary sense of smell capable of sniffing out a bomb
or identifying every ingredient in a beef stew, separately.

So, which is the superior species?