We lavish on animals the love we are afraid to show to people.

Host: The apartment was small, warm, and softly lit. The kind of space that carried the intimacy of quiet evenings — half-read books on the coffee table, a half-empty wine glass beside a flickering candle, and a large golden retriever sleeping near the window, its slow breathing filling the silence like music made of trust.

Outside, rain tapped lightly on the glass, the world hushed beneath its rhythm. The city glowed faintly in the distance — a sea of tired lights, too far to touch, too near to forget.

Jack sat on the floor, leaning against the couch, absentmindedly scratching the dog’s ear. His face softened — the kind of softness reserved for moments when the world stops demanding performance. His eyes, usually sharp, were now calm, reflective.

Jeeny entered from the kitchen, holding two cups of tea. She set one down next to him and watched him with a smile that was equal parts amusement and tenderness.

Jeeny: softly “You look more at peace with that dog than I’ve ever seen you with another human being.”

Jack: half-smiling “That’s because he doesn’t argue, doesn’t lie, and doesn’t expect an apology I don’t know how to give.”

Jeeny: sitting on the couch beside him “Mignon McLaughlin once said — ‘We lavish on animals the love we are afraid to show to people. They might not return it; or worse, they might.’”

Jack: pauses, looking down at the sleeping dog “Yeah… she nailed it. It’s safer, isn’t it? Loving something that won’t complicate it.”

Host: The dog shifted slightly, sighing in its sleep. The candlelight caught in its fur — gold and shadow, warmth and fragility. The moment felt almost holy in its simplicity.

Jeeny: “Do you really think that’s why people love their pets so much? Because it’s safer?”

Jack: nods slowly “Sure. You give everything to them — affection, care, time — and they don’t reject you. They don’t keep score. There’s no risk of heartbreak, no misunderstanding. You love, and they just… accept.”

Jeeny: quietly “But isn’t that what love’s supposed to be? Without condition?”

Jack: laughs softly “In theory, yeah. But people complicate theory. You show someone too much love, they start wondering what you want in return.”

Jeeny: “And dogs don’t?”

Jack: “Dogs just take it. They let you love them without demanding you explain why. No translation needed.”

Host: The rain outside grew heavier, tracing lines of light across the window. The soft glow from the lamp painted their faces in shades of amber and melancholy.

Jeeny: “You ever wonder if it’s cowardice, though? Hiding our hearts behind fur and wagging tails? Like we use animals to practice the love we’re too afraid to give each other.”

Jack: looks up, meeting her gaze “Maybe it’s not cowardice. Maybe it’s training. They remind us what love’s supposed to feel like before people taught us to doubt it.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “That’s poetic.”

Jack: “No. It’s survival.”

Host: The dog stirred, rolling onto its back, paws in the air — the purest gesture of trust. Jack laughed softly, reached out, and rested his palm on the dog’s chest, feeling its heartbeat beneath the fur.

Jeeny watched him, the candlelight flickering between them like the breath of something unseen.

Jeeny: “You ever wonder what it means — that we can love so easily what can’t speak back?”

Jack: “Maybe it means we’re finally learning to listen.”

Jeeny: “Or maybe it means we’re afraid of being understood.”

Jack: quietly “Yeah. That’s the other half of her quote, isn’t it? ‘Or worse, they might.’”

Host: Her eyes softened at that. The words hung between them like the echo of something neither wanted to fully face.

Jeeny: “You think it’s worse when someone loves you back?”

Jack: leans his head against the couch, exhaling “It can be. Because then it’s real. And when it’s real, you can lose it. The moment someone says, ‘I love you,’ the clock starts ticking toward goodbye.”

Jeeny: gently “That’s a pretty bleak way to see love.”

Jack: “It’s not bleak. It’s honest. Look at him.” He nods toward the dog. “He’s gonna go before I do. And I’ll cry like a fool when it happens. But at least I won’t have to wonder if he meant it. People — you can never be sure.”

Host: The room fell into stillness, the kind that hums with unspoken truth. The dog’s breathing, the rain, the low buzz of the city outside — all merging into one fragile soundscape of life continuing despite understanding.

Jeeny: “You know, you sound like someone who’s been loved back and didn’t know what to do with it.”

Jack: smiles faintly, not denying it “Maybe that’s why I’m so good with animals. They don’t look at you like they’re trying to fix you. They just sit beside you until you start breathing right again.”

Jeeny: softly “That’s not love without depth, Jack. That’s love without fear.”

Jack: turns to her, eyes thoughtful “So maybe McLaughlin got it half-right. Maybe we don’t lavish love on animals because we’re afraid of people. Maybe we do it because they remind us what love could look like if fear didn’t ruin it.”

Jeeny: “You think we could ever love like that? Fearless?”

Jack: after a long pause “Maybe once. As kids. Before we learned the price of it.”

Host: She looked down, fingers tracing the rim of her cup. The candle had burned low, the wax pooling like spilled sunlight. The dog shifted again, letting out a soft sigh that felt like an answer.

Jeeny: “Then maybe the point isn’t to love without fear. Maybe it’s to love despite it.”

Jack: nods slowly “That’s what this guy does, doesn’t he? Loves me even though I’m moody, broken, distracted.”

Jeeny: smiling “Maybe he doesn’t see you that way.”

Jack: “Maybe he sees me the way I wish I could see people — as someone still worth loving, even when I don’t make sense.”

Host: The clock ticked softly. The rain began to ease. Jeeny reached down and petted the dog’s head, her hand brushing lightly against Jack’s. Neither moved.

Jeeny: whispering “Maybe that’s what McLaughlin meant. That the love we give to animals isn’t lesser — it’s just purer. A rehearsal for the day we finally find the courage to love people the same way.”

Jack: quietly “Without guarantees. Without conditions.”

Jeeny: “Without armor.”

Host: The dog yawned, rolled over, and nestled between them. Jack smiled, the tension in his shoulders dissolving like fog under light.

Jeeny looked at him — really looked — the kind of gaze that asks without words, that waits without demand.

Jack: softly “You think people could ever love like this again?”

Jeeny: “They already do. Just not loudly.”

Host: Outside, the rain stopped completely. The air cleared, and a thin shaft of moonlight slipped through the window, painting them in silver and peace.

And for a moment — a small, wordless eternity — there was no fear, no distance, only warmth. The kind of warmth that speaks in touch, not sound.

Because as Mignon McLaughlin wrote,
we love animals not because they’re easier to love,
but because they teach us how to love better —
without the armor, without the noise,
and without the terror that someone might love us back.

For in the presence of such innocence,
even the most guarded soul remembers
what love was like
before it learned to be afraid.