Our dog Kyoto passed away very unexpectedly one month ago. Although he would have been 13 in April, and his breed (redbone coonhound mix) aren’t typically expected to live beyond 12 years, we weren’t ready to say goodbye to him. We adopted him over 10 ½ years ago, and kept the name given to him by his previous owner because we couldn’t agree on a name that sounded like Kyoto (Toto? Pluto? Rococo?). He was a docile, compliant creature, content to sleep all day long but ready to go for a run on a moment’s notice. From his vantage point of the living-room window, he zealously guarded his domain, barking aggressively when someone parked their car in front of our house or (God forbid!) a neighbour and his dog walked by. For the most part, he kept a respectful distance from our table during mealtimes, but he was always ready to devour pizza crusts or lick out an empty yogurt container (as long as it was full fat, none of the ersatz 2% or 0% stuff). But above all, he was a loyal friend.
One of the most endearing expressions of Kyoto’s loyalty was the behaviour he displayed almost every morning. Judy, being an early riser, took responsibility for taking him on his morning walk. With the occasional exception, when he returned to the house he would come into our bedroom and lick my hand, which would be hanging over the edge of the bed from under the covers. It was if he was reassuring me that he was still there, that he and we had survived the night and with the new day he was ready to resume his role as guardian and companion. In his later years, Kyoto was no longer able to run with Judy and me, but if one of us should return from a run before the other, he would watch anxiously at our living room window until the last runner was home and his family was complete.
Make no mistake: Kyoto’s loyalty was sustained by self-interest, regardless of any affection he felt toward us as his loving owners. We were his providers. He relied on us for food, water and shelter. In 10 ½ years, not once did we observe him catching any of his own food, even though he vainly pursued the abundant black and grey squirrels that prowl in our back yard. We gave him treats, took him on walks where he could explore the neighbourhood, and allowed him to sleep on the floor beside our bed at night. His loyalty was induced: behaviours that met our approval were rewarded with provisions and enriching experiences. Yet, the daily routines of food, water, treats, walks and loving gestures (stroking his head, scratching his neck at the base of his skull) also built bonds of mutual affection. And that affection was expressed toward his and our extended family: Kyoto had a special high-pitched, excited bark that he reserved for welcoming our children and grandchildren, and Judy’s sister and her husband. When we heard him make one of these announcements, we knew before we answered the door that a member of Kyoto’s family was waiting there. “[Dogs] show their loyalty in their own way through affection, protection and empathy. From just being with them and loving them, dogs will develop loyalty toward you and other members of your household” (Why Dogs Are So Loyal).
What can we learn from the loyalty of a dog for his family? To begin, loyalty is a choice, although feelings are seldom entirely absent. The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy defines loyalty as “a practical disposition to persist in an intrinsically valued (though not necessarily valuable) associational attachment, where that involves a potentially costly commitment to secure or at least not jeopardize the interests or well-being of the object of loyalty.” There’s a lot to unpack there, but note the words “practical”, “persist” and “potentially costly”. The article goes on to say, “The test of loyalty is conduct rather than intensity of feeling, primarily a certain ‘stickingness’ or perseverance.” There were times when Kyoto would know my displeasure (usually because he had ripped into a garbage bag and spread the contents around the kitchen) and wisely kept his distance from me—but before long I would see him inching toward me, looking for the sign that I was ready to restore him to my favour. His disposition toward loyalty was stronger than any shame he may have felt over his bad behaviour. Loyalty is also constant: It cannot be generated in a moment (as is affection), but through a choice to persist in “an intrinsically valued associational attachment”. Loyalty requires consistency. This is why the emotional and relational consequences of disloyalty are so deep: the man who has demonstrated loyalty to his partner for 30 years and then betrays her by sleeping with another woman violently overthrows a constant that has been generated by thousands of small choices in the same direction for those 30 years.
It would be a mistake to think of loyalty only in terms of grand gestures of uncommon kindness, like the son who donates half of his liver to save his father’s life. Loyalty is also displayed in seeking the well-being of others in small ways that would be unremarkable were the expressions not so consistent and patently sincere. Here I think of our neighbour Gayle, who (so sadly) also passed away last month. We were not close friends; we were never in each other’s homes, we never shared a meal. But Gayle spent a lot of time on her front porch, and she never failed to cheerfully call out to us as we left the house: “Have a nice day!” “Don’t work too hard!” or “Enjoy your run!” Gayle epitomized neighbourliness as a disposition that evinces loyalty and speaks of consistency and dependability. We never had the occasion to call on Gayle for help, but had we done so, we know she would have done everything within her power to respond.
Loyal friends are embedded in the place where they find themselves, and look no further for meaning and purpose.
When I remember Gayle, and when I think of Kyoto, the words that come to mind are “faithful presence”. In no way do I wish to demean the human by ascribing the same quality to her as to an animal, for our neighbourhoods need more of the unassuming attentiveness to those around us that both displayed. Various writers and researchers have documented an upsurge in neighbourliness as a result of the COVID-19 pandemic, but I fear that as we have passed from the second wave to the third wave here in Ontario we are retreating again into our own bubbles for survival’s sake rather than investing in words and deeds of loyalty. With the end to the pandemic in sight, it will soon be time to renew our individual commitment to faithful presence—valuing and consistently paying attention to the needs of the people and places right in front of us. Loyal friends are embedded in the place where they find themselves, and look no further when seeking meaning and purpose. Just being there is good enough.
Text and photos © 2021 Edwin Wilson
