Intimacy grows from hearing and understanding another being. To do so, one must meet them on their level.
Despite 20 years as a medical speech pathologist, I sometimes faltered at this skill. Now retired, I work harder to keep it. Meeting others on their level is challenging due to clashing psychologies and biases. By contrast, caring for animals offers humbler yet powerful lessons.
My wife was recently hospitalized for a week after surgery for a life-threatening illness. When it became clear my time was best spent at her bedside, a kind neighbor and her daughter took our Lilly, the Boston terrier, into their home. They knew the importance of being available to a loved one in recovery. “Take whatever time you need,” they said.
We’d grown close to these neighbors since moving to Portland six years ago. Lilly adores them, sometimes popping handstands when they approach. Our friends adore her back, offering pets and butt scratches. But fawning over a friend’s pet is one thing. Living with them is another. A full-time dose of quirks can grow tiresome.
During those first few days, Lilly moped. Snuggles and play warmed her to the point where new behaviors, familiar to us, began to emerge with our friends. Lilly huffed, pawed furniture, and barked a few times. Her insistence shocked and stymied our friends, one of whom had been bitten by a dog as a child. Potty breaks and play didn’t calm her. Their texts to me went unanswered during a critical phase of my wife’s recovery. When I responded, they had already dimmed the lights and lowered the TV volume (a dose of Clonidine helped, too!).
We were blessed with caretakers willing to get down on all fours and meet Lilly on her level. This act won Lilly’s trust and built theirs, raising them to elite caregiver status. Not shabby for self-described "not dog people!" One friend even captured Lilly’s portrait as she lay on their living room rug.
At our reunion, Lilly moaned and squirmed. She’d weathered an unexpected change in her life routine. Our loving friends did, too. They all met on one another’s level. Their example echoes in my wife’s and my lives, reminding us how essential this approach is to achieving harmony. She confronts a long recovery and evolving needs. I strive to listen with more than my ears.
Then there’s Lilly. She lumbers toward old age, toting familiar human habits: freezing in a doorway, growing restless at sunset, erupting with expression lacking clear desire.
Our friends showed us that loving Lilly through change means standing tall enough to get down on all fours.
To do that, we must first meet ourselves with the same compassion, understanding, and willingness to listen—so we can truly meet others, human or animal, where they are.
Lilly art by Anonymous <3