By Amy Palumbo-LeClaire

A dog’s loyalty is boundless. A dog expresses joy in your presence, longing in your absence, and a smile to the mere thought of you. To the mere thought of you. Read that again. Nothing compares to a dog’s unconditional love.

“OH MY GOSH. You’re here again!” Luke greets me with a wiggle and a whimper every single morning, as though we’ve been estranged for years. “I’ve missed you so much, Momma. I have so much to tell you.” His oversized stuffed lamb hangs from his mouth, and he often uses its dirty head to poke me in the hip, initiating a cruel game of Chase. The two of us race like fools around the house. I stop at the dining room corner and hide, spooking my pup on the other side of the house. Luke skids and slides then finally catches his footing before dashing away. The lamb remains powerless in his jaw. Then, satisfied by the morning ruckus, he’ll drop the lamb and stare up at me. “What are you thinking about, Momma?” He tracks my moves. “You need to go the bathroom? Good idea. I’ll wait right here.” He lies down at the foot of the toilet and waits for me to finish. A dog’s loyalty never fades. Even if you neglect your dog repeatedly, he will be there waiting, forgiving, and loving you still. For this reason, along with so many more, I include Luke in most excursions. “Luke can come, too.” His head squares to a phrase that’s become part of his dog vocabulary. 

“I can come, too?” He tap-dances to both doorways, not wanting to miss a single moment of what’s to come. He has no idea where we’re going. The thought of going somewhere is stimulation enough for a dog. “Which way are we heading out?” Despite wanting to be first in line, Luke will dash down, then back up the basement stairs if I’m running behind. “Almost ready, Momma? Don’t forget your lipstick!”  He waits for me to grab my pocketbook then cuts me off on the way down the stairs again. “I got the travel crate. You can sit in the front again. Hey, WE’RE GOING FOR A RIDE!” Dogs remind us that the simple things in life are usually the best. 

Incidentally, Luke has joined us on hikes, outdoor dining experiences, baseball games, ice cream outings, and quiet times at local coffee shops. “Your dog is so well behaved.” He lifts his head to a local and smiles. “I’m trained during spontaneous learning situations. That’s why I’m such a good boy.” Luke is correct. The more I’m with him, the more he’s immersed in natural situations which require training and, consequently, the more willing he is to behave and follow commands such as Leave It, Sit, Stay, Wait, Go Easy, No and Listen. Thus, the more willing we are to include him. Humans and dogs, nevertheless, seem to differ here. A dog expects nothing from you and will still want to be with you. You don’t have to behave a certain way, listen to commands, or live life according to a tailored regimen. You must simply be yourself. Even sweeter, a dog shows appreciation for the mere thought of you. Luke has come to know the names of his loved ones. Read on.

“Grammy is coming over, Luke!” He stops what he’s doing and stares at me, translating the name Grammy. “Are you kidding me??” I imagine a miniature image of my mother floating in the cartoon bubble of Luke’s dog mind. She’s carrying bags and bags of stuffed animals. Ecstatic, he rushes to the front door and presses his head against the door panel glass to inspect the yard for his grandmother. Dogs have zero concept of the intangible essence of time. Every word uttered is a sudden present-tense verb. However, I’m a believer in accelerated learning lessons. I’m a believer that Luke can learn to piece together all that’s comprised of the word “time.”

“Luke, first Grammy has to go for a ryyyde.” I enunciate the word ‘ride’ with long, drawn-out syllables to mirror the idea of length. “First, Grammy has to go for a ryyyde.” I watch the light bulb go off in Luke’s mind. A new cartoon image emerges, that of my miniature mother seated at her car’s steering wheel. His mouth opens to a knowing smile. He knows she’s on her way, yet he still paces and checks windows, just in case. 

Finally, Grammy’s white SUV appears at the front lawn. For Luke, the moment is epic. One might think that a celebrity NASCAR driver has just appeared. He’s thought about her for stretches of seconds and now she’s at his house. LEGIT!! I let him out on the front step so that he can watch his grandmother parallel park. She shifts the wheel and turns, backs up again, and then repeats, trying to get her car aligned just right. Her brake lights blink on and off, offering Luke added fascination. “When will Grammy get out of the car?” He smiles in adoration and lowers his head as though stalking a bunny. He doesn’t want to miss out on a single trick of Grammy’s moves. 

Finally, she opens the door and steps out of the driver’s seat. I watch Luke wiggle with elation. He has learned to be gentle and stay DOWN, but quieting his love for a person is a struggle that is so real We can be ourselves in front of our dogs, but we expect them to behave as humans.  They cannot quite be themselves. They need to shush and mind their manners. A dog loves so freely and exuberantly that all of this is counterintuitive.

Grammy strolls innocently across the front yard. Tote bags full of prizes dangle from her hands. Perhaps, I decide, she’s taken for granted Luke’s love for her, love that can’t be bought. “Make sure you say HI to Luke,” I remind. Ever loyal and compliant, Luke sits at the heels of a human whose side he’d never leave. Satisfied with a mere pat on the head, he smiles gratefully. “Love you, Grammy.”

Meanwhile, I plan Luke’s next excursion.  

Stay tuned for more on Luke Valentino.

Follow him on IG @livingwithlukevalentino  

Write to Amy at [email protected]