What my dog has taught me about being human

Whenever a new toy or treat comes home, my dog assumes it is for him. He does not pause to wonder whether he deserves it. Good things arrive, and his first instinct is joy.

If I take something away, he does not spiral into rejection. He finds an old toy and carries on. His confidence rests on a simple belief: the people he loves also love him.

As a puppy he marched into the large-dog area and invited everyone to play. Some dogs ignored him. He simply moved on to the next possible friend.

Adults often lose before our ability is tested because we reject ourselves in advance. My dog never asks whether he is qualified. He sees the possibility and acts.

A dog does not turn affection into a puzzle. Joy becomes a wagging tail; fear becomes a request for closeness; missing someone becomes an enthusiastic welcome.

We hide our needs and hope another person will decode them, then feel hurt when they cannot. Love works better when affection, gratitude, need and apology are spoken plainly.

When he was young, I taught him not to guard food by exchanging what he had for another reward. He learnt that losing the thing in front of him did not mean the world had become empty.

The pain of loss often grows from the belief that nothing will follow it. Accepting change gives us the courage to begin again.

A new smell on a walk, a roll on the grass or the sound of someone coming home can make his entire day.

Growing up is not always about acquiring more. Sometimes it means recovering what dogs never abandoned: sincerity, attention, presence and the courage to love without restraint.