The other day, during one of our sessions, someone started talking about their dog. I’ve said this before, but I’ll say it again—dogs are some of the best living examples of unconditional love. Seriously, they’re like furry spiritual teachers who’ve mastered the art of “just be happy.”
Let me show you what I mean with a little (totally fictional) story:
I’m having one of those days—you know, when the coffee machine explodes, the Wi-Fi is slower than a snail on vacation, and I’m two seconds from losing my mind. In a burst of frustration, I kick the dog. (Remember, this is just a story—no dogs were harmed in the making of this lesson!) The dog slides across the floor, hits the wall, and then…
Does the dog get mad? Nope.
Does the dog plan revenge? Not a chance.
Instead, in a flash of pure enthusiasm, the dog races right back to me, tail wagging like crazy, as if to say, “Wow, that was fun! Do it again!” Still annoyed, I repeat my foolish move—and the dog responds the same way, eager for more.
Why? Because to the dog, this isn’t an “offense.” It’s just another form of play. The dog’s love doesn’t see what I did; it only sees me.
And isn’t that the very definition of unconditional love? As ACIM reminds us:
“Love holds no grievances.” (W-68.1:1)
Dogs don’t keep score. They don’t sulk in the corner or throw passive-aggressive glares. They forgive instantly because, like love itself, they don’t know how to do anything else.
The parable of the prodigal son paints the same picture. The son squanders everything—basically, he “kicks the dog”—but when he finally comes home, the father doesn’t say, “Let’s talk about your poor decisions.” He runs to meet him. It’s the spiritual version of a dog sprinting full-speed toward you, ready to smother you with affection.
ACIM captures this perfectly:
“When I said ‘I am with you always,’ I meant it literally.” (T-7.III.1:7)
Moral of the Story:
The point isn’t to see how far we can push love before it breaks—because real love doesn’t break. Like the dog, God’s Love doesn’t wait for apologies or explanations; it’s already there, wagging its tail, saying, “Welcome home.”
But here’s the kicker (pun intended): we don’t need to “kick the dog” just to prove that love will come running back. ACIM reminds us, “What you call sin does not exist.” (T-19.II.3:1) In other words, the only thing we’re really kicking is our own illusion that love can be lost.
So maybe the lesson is this: Instead of testing love, start trusting it. Throw the ball instead of the kick. Love always returns—because it never left in the first place.