I always pet a dog with my left hand because if he bit me I'd

Hear, O lovers of art and seekers of wisdom, the words of Juan Gris, painter of Cubist visions, who declared: “I always pet a dog with my left hand because if he bit me I'd still have my right hand to paint with.” Though spoken with a smile of wit, these words conceal a truth of great depth: that life demands prudence, and that the wise protect their gifts even in the smallest of actions. For Gris, his right hand was not only flesh and bone, but the very channel of his art, the instrument through which his soul entered the canvas.

The ancients would have called this wisdom phronesis—practical judgment, the art of living carefully while still engaging with the world. To pet a dog is to embrace trust, to reach out toward joy, but Gris reminds us that joy is not without risk. Thus, one must meet life with both openness and caution, with a heart ready for companionship but a mind alert to danger. The painter’s words are not about dogs alone, but about the discipline of guarding what is essential while still daring to live.

Consider the tale of Gaius Mucius Scaevola, the Roman youth who, when captured by the enemy, thrust his right hand into the fire to prove his courage. From then on he was called “Scaevola,” the left-handed. He sacrificed what was most precious to show the strength of his spirit. Gris, in contrast, chose not sacrifice but foresight: to protect what was most needed for his art. Both men understood the value of the hand, but Gris teaches us that one must not squander the tools that sustain destiny. Prudence preserves what passion requires.

There is also in Gris’s words a meditation on risk itself. To live fully is to reach out—to pet the dog, to embrace the unknown, to walk unguarded into the world. Yet the wise do not rush blindly; they prepare, they shield what cannot be replaced. For the artist, the hand is sacred; for the warrior, perhaps it is the sword; for the teacher, the voice. Each soul has something they cannot afford to lose. Gris’s humor is a reminder: risk, but protect; venture, but guard; live, but never forget what must endure.

His words also reveal a deep reverence for vocation. The right hand to paint with is more than a limb—it is a symbol of calling, of purpose. Gris valued his art so highly that he shaped even casual choices around its preservation. In this, he teaches us that to honor one’s calling is not only to work at it with devotion, but to guard it fiercely in the small details of daily life. If we truly value our purpose, then even how we greet the world must serve it.

The lesson, therefore, is clear: know what is essential to you, and protect it. Do not risk lightly the gifts that sustain your spirit. Live openly, yes—reach out to others, embrace joy, take chances—but do so with wisdom, guarding the sacred flame of your calling. To lose what is central for the sake of carelessness is folly; to protect it with foresight is strength.

Practically, this means asking yourself: what is my “right hand”? What is the gift, the skill, the purpose that must not be squandered? Once you know it, shape your choices around its preservation. Let your habits protect your calling, so that even in small actions, your destiny is guarded. Live with foresight, but never with fear—reach out with the left, protect the right, and in this balance find harmony.

So let these words endure: “I always pet a dog with my left hand.” It is not only the humor of a painter, but the wisdom of one who knew how to live in the world without losing what made him whole. May we too guard our gifts, live with foresight, and honor our callings, so that what is most precious within us may endure the trials of time.