There was a story about a girl and her dog. My best friend. He would come up to me and put his head on my knee and wait there for me to pet him. He knew when I was happy. He knew when I was sad. Often I would sit out on the front steps of my parents house when I was in grade school thinking about the state of affairs in my life. My dog would sit there right next to me and stare out into the scenery along with me.
This was the one person in my family I truly loved. He was the only one I loved. Although John and I got along most times, I still reserved the right to hate his guts at times.
I was in kindergarten when we got my puppy. Within hours, we had developed the special bond of a lifetime. He was my dog and I was his human. There was nothing else to it. All my love was poured into his special being. We laughed together. We cried together. This dog always knew how I was feeling and he would act accordingly. He was the only one to give me unconditional love in my entire life. Yes, I’m still talking about my dog.
He worshiped the ground I walked on. I could do no wrong in his eyes. And I never did any wrong to him in my life. He was the best friend I could have ever asked for.
My parents hated my relationship with my dog. They were so jealous of my love for this animal. It sounds weird to me sitting here typing the fact that my parents were jealous of a dog. They couldn’t understand my love for this animal. And they certainly knew I did not love them even close to the same. This is the part they couldn’t understand. You would think they would get that children don’t like being beaten and it may change the relationship somewhat.
I sure wanted to love my mother and father the same way I loved my dog. It just was not meant to be in my childhood. Trust was a big part of love and there was absolutely one hundred percent lack of trust in my parents. They were incoherent most evenings after dinner. They were often violent with me when they had a bad day. I often thought of myself as their personal punching bag. Let’s take out the frustration of our lives on our eldest daughter. It made them feel better about themselves to hit me. It made me hate myself and hate them more.
And through it all was my faithful dog. He always would find me and put his head on my knee. That was our code when he knew something was wrong. And we’d often sit together that way for hours until he helped me feel better.