The Ability to Love Like a Dog
Someone once told me that DOG spelled backwards is GOD.
Whether that's simply a coincidence or something more, I've always thought there was a beautiful truth hidden in those words. Dogs have a way of loving that reminds me of the kind of love I believe God has for us. A love that doesn't depend on what we look like, what we can do, how much money we have, or whether we're having a good day or a bad one.
As someone who lives with a disability, I've spent my life being noticed for the things that make me different. People often see the wheelchair before they see me. Sometimes they make assumptions about what I can or cannot do. Sometimes they focus on my disability instead of the person sitting in front of them.
Dogs don't do that.
Dogs don't look at a wheelchair and feel uncomfortable. They don't see weakness. They don't see limitation. They simply see a person.
One of the greatest gifts in my life was my dog, Coco.
When I got her as a Christmas gift the year after my dog Disney died, I was a little afraid I wouldn't be able to raise a puppy without my mom's help. Jen helped a lot during those first few years because Coco was very difficult to potty train, and she absolutely adored Jen. But I knew I was her momma because whenever she was sick, and she struggled with stomach issues her entire life, she wanted me by her side.
When I first moved out on my own, I wasn't sure if I could take care of this little living being by myself. I was learning how to navigate independence, adjusting to a new chapter of life, and wondering if I could truly give Coco the life she deserved. I made a promise to myself that I would do everything possible to keep her safe, healthy, and loved.
Moving to a city where I knew no one was intimidating. There were moments when I felt scared, moments when I questioned whether I could make it on my own, and moments when the loneliness felt overwhelming.
But that little furball was always there.
Every day, Coco reminded me that I wasn't completely alone. She sat beside me when I was worried. She greeted me when I returned home from grocery shopping. She brought comfort on days when everything felt uncertain. Coco didn't care that I was still figuring life out. She didn't care about my mistakes or my fears. She simply loved me.
Looking back, I realize she helped me through one of the biggest transitions of my life. In many ways, I'm not sure I could have made that move without her by my side.
About eight months after moving, I went through a personal situation that became one of the hardest experiences of my life. I felt more alone, more confused, and more heartbroken than ever before. I questioned everything.
Through it all, Coco stayed right beside me.
She listened as I talked through my feelings. She curled up beside me when I couldn't stop crying. She went on walks with me when I needed fresh air and space to think. Most importantly, she loved me through it all.
She didn't judge me. She didn't question my decisions. She didn't ask me to explain my pain. She simply showed up, day after day, with unconditional love.
She was also there as I slowly made my life as an independent woman living on her own. When I made the decision to go back to school, Coco became my biggest supporter. She stayed up with me during late nights when I was working on projects and trying to meet deadlines. She listened as I sang out loud to relieve stress and celebrate small victories. Through every challenge and every accomplishment, she was there.
When Coco passed away just shy of her fifteenth birthday, I realized something important. Years earlier, I had made myself a promise. I would do everything I could to keep her safe, healthy, and loved. And I did. For more than ten years on my own, I kept that promise.
But the truth is, she kept the same promise to me.
She kept me safe when I felt afraid. She loved me when I felt broken. She stayed by my side through loneliness, heartbreak, uncertainty, and change. In so many ways, while I was taking care of her, she was taking care of me too.
Maybe that's what dogs do best.
They remind us that our worth isn't something we have to earn.
The world would be a kinder and more inclusive place if we all learned to love a little more like dogs do. To see people before their differences. To listen without judgment. To show up for one another. To lead with acceptance and compassion.
As someone with a disability, that's the kind of inclusion means the most. Not being seen for what makes me different, but being valued for who I am.
After all, paws never judge.
They just love.
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