The giant dog that comforts

As is the case with many dogs, and rescues in particular, our dog is terrified of rainstorms, thunders and lightning. Whilst not being a particularly physical dog in the way she normally shows affection, during these events she frequently seeks contact with my wife and/or myself, often spending the entire night on our bed, curled up against us, shivering lightly.

So far, I have been lucky never to have had to confront fears so deep and all-encompassing such as these, fears that would literally shake me to my core for hours on end. Unfortunately, many others have and do every day. Sometimes, having no frame of reference for empathizing with others is as much of a luxury as it is a shame.

In many ways, most dogs are unfiltered beings. Their emotional state is clearly and immediately reflected in their behavior, unincumbered by the complex social norms and expectations that characterize human relationships. There is no doubt in my mind that witnessing a dog finding comfort in our presence is one of the purest and most profound ways to experience trust.

Looking back at these precious moments, though, I can’t help but feel a certain kind of loss for something that our complexity does not allow us to experience, at least not past the early age in which we learn how to remember.

I wonder how it would feel if, in my own darker hours, when my own fears rise to the surface and I can’t find solace from my anxieties, I could turn to a giant dog and cuddle into the fur of her belly, shivering lightly as the storm washes over me. I wonder how it would be for her to gently lift me up into her crate, perhaps by the crook of my shirt if not by my neck, and snuggle around me, helping me shed everything that I am and letting myself fade into the storm that rages, safe between dirty paws and the solid warmth of a loving snout.

Is it even possible to mourn for an experience that we can never have?