There is no psychiatrist in the world like a puppy licking your

Host: The afternoon sunlight filtered through the open window, laying golden stripes across the floorboards of a small, quiet cabin on the edge of the woods. The air smelled of pine, earth, and something humanly peaceful — the kind of peace that only exists when the world has forgotten you.

Jack sat on the porch, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, eyes fixed on the distant hills where light melted into mist. Jeeny knelt nearby on the grass, her hands buried in the fur of a small stray puppy that had wandered in from the trees. The puppy’s tail wagged with wild, uncalculated joy, its tongue lapping her face with a kind of innocent insistence.

Host: The scene might have been simple, even ordinary, but the way they looked at it — it was something sacred. Jeeny’s laughter rose, pure, uncontrolled, and for a moment, it cut through the weight that Jack always carried.

Jeeny: (laughing) “Bernard Williams once said, ‘There is no psychiatrist in the world like a puppy licking your face.’ He was right, you know. Nothing heals like this.”

Jack: (smirking faintly) “You really think a dog can fix what people can’t?”

Jeeny: “Maybe not fix, but remind. Remind us that we were never meant to be this cold. That love doesn’t need logic — it just needs presence.”

Jack: (takes a drag from his cigarette) “Love’s a word people throw around when they can’t explain their impulses. That dog isn’t healing you, Jeeny. It’s just... reacting. It licks because that’s what instinct tells it to do.”

Host: The puppy barked softly, tilting its head as if in defiance of Jack’s tone. Jeeny’s smile widened, eyes shimmering with that warmth he both envied and distrusted.

Jeeny: “And maybe that’s exactly what makes it real. No expectation, no demand. Just instinctive affection. Can you imagine a human loving like that?”

Jack: (dryly) “If humans loved like that, half the poets in the world would be out of business.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”

Host: A pause. The wind shifted, stirring the trees, carrying with it the scent of rain on dirt. The puppy snuggled closer to Jeeny’s lap, breathing fast, eyes closing in trust.

Jack: (softly) “You make it sound so easy. Just... feel, and everything heals. The world’s not that kind, Jeeny. It bites harder than that puppy ever could.”

Jeeny: “And yet here we are — still petting it.”

Host: He chuckled, low and rough, the sound of a man who hadn’t laughed in a while but was trying to remember how.

Jack: “You think affection’s enough to fix the kind of damage people carry?”

Jeeny: “Not fix. Soothe. There’s a difference. Sometimes what we call healing isn’t erasing pain — it’s remembering how to live alongside it.”

Jack: (narrowing his eyes) “You really believe a lick on the face can do what years of therapy can’t?”

Jeeny: (looking at the puppy) “Maybe because it doesn’t try to understand — it just accepts.”

Host: The words hung, gentle but heavy, as Jack’s gaze fell to the puppy, now clumsily gnawing at his shoe. He watched it — the tiny creature, so fiercely alive, unafraid of his distance or his darkness.

Jack: (half-smiling) “You know, I used to have a dog. When I was a kid. It’d sleep at my feet every night. I didn’t know what comfort was until the day it died.”

Jeeny: “And when it died, you stopped believing comfort existed.”

Jack: (shrugging) “Maybe. Or maybe I just grew up.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. You built a wall. Growing up isn’t the same as giving up.”

Host: Her voice was soft, but it cut through him — not like a knife, but like truth, slow, undeniable, tenderly cruel. The light from the window shifted, catching the dust in the air, turning it into floating gold.

Jack: “So what, Jeeny? You think a dog licking your face is a cure for loneliness?”

Jeeny: “No. But it’s a start.”

Jack: (raising an eyebrow) “A start?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because when that puppy licks you, it doesn’t care what you’ve done, or what you think you deserve. It just says, ‘You exist, and that’s enough.’ When was the last time you felt that from a human being?”

Host: Jack didn’t answer. His eyes fell, shadowed by something older than the moment — the kind of sadness that never speaks, but echoes in the bones.

Jeeny: (quietly) “You see, Jack... that’s the thing about animals. They remind us that connection isn’t a transaction. It’s a state of being.”

Jack: “And you think people can learn that?”

Jeeny: “I think people forget it. But yes. Maybe the lesson starts with a dog. Maybe it starts with being loved without earning it.”

Host: The puppy wandered over to Jack, its paws muddy, its tail whipping the air with a kind of reckless joy. It climbed clumsily onto his lap, and before he could stop it, its tongue brushed his cheek.

Jack: (grimacing, then laughing) “Damn it… that’s disgusting.”

Jeeny: (grinning) “That’s therapy.”

Host: The laughter that followed wasn’t loud, but it was real — a sound that carried, that broke the stillness and filled the room with something anciently human.

Jack: (after a pause) “You know… maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s not about being healed. Maybe it’s about being reminded you’re still worth healing.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. That’s what love — the real kind — does. It doesn’t demand change. It just offers warmth until you thaw.”

Host: The wind moved through the trees, whispering, as the sun slipped lower, painting the sky in gold and crimson. Jack’s cigarette had gone out, but he didn’t light another. His hand rested on the puppy’s back, slowly, absently, as if rediscovering what gentleness felt like.

Jack: “So Bernard Williams was right. No psychiatrist in the world like this little idiot.”

Jeeny: (smiling warmly) “Because a dog doesn’t ask who you are. It just knows you need someone.”

Jack: “And for once… that’s enough.”

Host: The light softened, spilling across their faces, glinting off the tiny dog’s fur. The moment was wordless, but alive — two souls, touched not by reason, but by something older and kinder.

The puppy yawned, curling up between them, and the world, in all its noise and madness, faded into a quiet truth — that sometimes, the simplest love is the truest medicine.

Host: The sunset breathed its last light, and the silence that followed wasn’t empty — it was whole.