Super strength, invisibility, flight–the list of superpowers is endless. But if I had to choose just one, I’d want omnilingualism: the ability to understand and speak every language. My justification? I’d finally be able to decipher animals. It’s about the connection–I’ve always been fascinated by how deeply animals seem to feel, how they notice the things we don’t say out loud. Without any comprehensible words, these innate creatures manage to comfort us in ways that almost feel human. Even though they can’t speak in human words, and we don’t speak in barks, meows, or chirps, animals have their own quiet way of communicating; one that is far more emotional and intuitive than we give them credit for.
When I first experienced the gentle fondness that a dog could display, I was maybe six years old, at a family friend’s barbecue. That’s when I met a Golden Retriever named Connie–and nearly a decade later, I still vividly remember instantaneously falling in love with him. He was much bigger than me, but something about his delicate and cautious body language made it clear he knew I was fragile. Connie was calm, attentive, and incredibly tender. Sometime during that night, I decided to hand-feed him a short rib. In his excitement, he accidentally bit my pinkie finger, causing me to yelp and let the rib fall to the ground. Instead of diving after the food he had been so eager for just moments before, Connie turned his attention to me. He wagged his tail slowly, making sure I wasn’t hurt. It was the first time I realized that a dog could care–not just in a “loyal pet” way, but in a truly sympathetic, human way.
Years later, while visiting one of my mom’s friends down in Georgia, I met a tiny Maltese named Sofie. She wasn’t your average affectionate lap dog–she didn’t like to be picked up or touched on her back, and she made it clear, with mild aggression, when she wanted to be left alone. With such stark differences to Connie, she piqued my interest. Despite her initial hostility, I was determined to have peace with her. One day, while standing at the top of the stairs, I locked eyes with Sofie, who was resting on the bottom step. I pretended to cry and sniffle, curious to see what she would do. To my surprise, Sofie began to climb her way up the stairs, albeit with slight hesitation. Moments later, she let me pick her up–without trying to tear my fingers off. I think she eventually figured out I wasn’t actually sad, but even then, she didn’t growl, bark, or pull away. It was safe to say that just as Connie did, Sofie won my heart. Sofie pushed past her own discomfort to comfort me, and that quiet choice spoke louder than any words ever could.
Even at a young age, I was always drawn to the idea that dogs could feel more than they let on–that their loyalty came with multiple layers of empathy and intuition. Connie and Sofie weren’t just pets merely reacting to the world around them; they were smart, emotional beings responding to me. Their actions weren’t random. They were deliberate responses, grounded in empathy. Even science backs it up. According to Wildlife SOS, American neuroscientist Jane Panksepp has found that the brains of all mammalian species are capable of generating emotional experiences (wildlifesos.org). These silent truths remind us that animals have always known how to be heard by the hearts willing to listen.
Some people may see dogs and other animals as just pets–a wagging tail, a pair of paws, a creature that can be taught tricks. But to me, animals have always been quiet empaths. They love unconditionally without words, feel without needing permission, and understand without any expectancy. Connie and Sofie left lifelong pawprints on my memory, but more than that, they left proof of something deeper: that animals carry hearts as big as ours. Even when we fall silent, animals are listening–and sometimes, they may be listening better than anyone else ever could.
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