How to Train Your Human

I met him when I was a little boy.  Because of him, I lived a full life and relatively speaking, lived to an old age. 

Humans have a funny way of not realizing they are human.  Well, not until someone treats them inhumanely or if they happen to lose someone or some tragedy occurs.  Humans are almost too arrogant for their own good.  And I mean, all of them.  Including him.

When I met him, I was introduced to kindness.  As much as I needed him in my life, it did not take long for me to recognize that he needed me more.  I suppose human kindness is thinly veiled selfishness.  And I don't say that to judge him or disparage him on any level.  It's just how humans are wired. 

It didn't take long for me to realize that he was going to be challenging.  Sure, I was just a young boy and he, well, he was much older and wiser.  And as they say, you can't teach an old human a new trick.  But I was willing to try.  He was worth the effort.  Dog knows that humans deserve our patience. 

I like that word deserve.  It's a word humans use to simplify entitlement issues.  Humans believe they deserve good fortune, the best life has to offer, love and empathy.  As soon as something goes wrong, the first thing they say is life is so unfair.  It's how humans insinuate or imply that fairness equates to perpetual comfort.  And they couldn't be more wrong. 

I knew going into this relationship, this would be an uphill battle.  A challenge I was excited to take on.  In reality, I was created for one purpose:  To train a human the intricacies of their own humanity. 

Dog knows being human is much more difficult than I could ever imagine.  And because of this, I had to lead by example.

At first, that early kindness seemed like a distant memory.  I would make mistakes like using the carpet as a toilet or chewing his shoes to pieces when he wasn't looking.  I was just a kid. 

Immediately, I knew this was the first step of training him.  He would yell at me; sometimes, even smack me in the nose with a newspaper.  Rather than snap back or get angry with him, I just tried to understand.  I tried to recognize what he expected from me.  I liked him better when he was happy and talking gently with me.

The first step in training your human is patience and gentleness.  They go hand in hand.  I am only responsible for my own actions so when he reacted at something I did, I reacted as quietly and gently as I could.  This seemed to work.  Before long, his anger turned to guilt.  He would apologize and just plead with me to do better.  Eventually, I did.

Dog knows that pride kills all relationships so I chose to be the one who would always swallow his.  And I was rewarded for it.  He took me to the park as often as he could.  He let me sleep with him.   He reciprocated my kindness with his own.

Everyday, he had this bad habit of leaving me alone for hours on end.  I often wondered where he was going.  Was there someone else better than me he was spending time with?  Each day, he would leave in the morning and come home when the sun was just about to set. 

It made me anxious.  What if he doesn't come home?  My thoughts raced daily.  But I had to trust him.  If I loved him, trust was going to be necessary.  I never questioned where he was.  I simply waited... impatiently yet excitedly.  And that moment, he walked in the door, I would trample him.  He seemed to bask in my joy. 

Humans seem to thrive on feeling needed.  And yes, I needed him.  And yes, I was never afraid to let him know that.  Maybe that's the most important step in training your human. 

As the years went on, my human and I were best friends.  At least, he was my best friend.  I made it a point each day to simply be his friend.  Even those days where he felt distant or indifferent, I chose to make certain he knew I was still here for him. 

Dog knows you can't make someone be your friend but you can be their friend.  That was a lesson I had hoped to teach him.

There was this period in his life where he lost someone close.  He wasn't sleeping or eating.  He just dragged his feet around the house.  I followed him from room to room.  On those rare occasions, he lifted his eyes up to meet mine, I smiled.  Well, I wagged my tail.  That was always my way of smiling. 

His grief was also his secret.  One, I vowed to keep.  As he laid for hours motionless on his bed, I laid with him; with my head gently upon his chest.  I occasionally licked his arm just to feel his pulse.  I suppose he needed mercy during those moments of solitude.  So, I tried to provide him what the universe was not. 

Dog knows when a human is down, a non judgmental friend is needed most. 

The end of my life came as a surprise.  I had developed this softball sized tumor in my neck.  My human seemed more concerned than I was.  I became lethargic.  My appetite was gone.  Rides in the car, trips to the park, begging for table scraps... all that was uninteresting to me.  I just wanted to sleep.  My human seemed desperate to breathe new life into me.

This was when I knew he was ready.  He was ready for his final training lesson.  It was going to be twofold:  gratitude and forgiveness.

He took me to the doctor.  I never really understood the human language but I could read body language and sense emotion.  It was apparent that I had served my friend well and it was my time to go.  I could see it on my human's face. 

As I was set down on this cold steel table, my human cried.  I wanted to tell him how thankful I was.  I desperately wanted him to know that I lived a remarkable life because of him.  So, I did what I always did best... I smiled. 

I wagged my tail and licked his hand before my soft forgiving eyes closed forever.



Dog knows it's not easy to train a human but they are worth it.  I suppose it would be a better world if we were not needed and humans took the lessons we teach, with them to their fellow humans. 

I met my human when I was a little boy.  In my nine short years on earth, I tried to teach him kindness, forgiveness, mercy, patience, gratitude and unconditional love.

God knows I tried my best.