'They Don’t Have Sense Enough to See Our Flaws'

He was friendly, the sort of guy who welcomed strangers of almost any species. Though a little slow, mentally speaking, he usually got our jokes. His instinctive reaction to you was something like: “Hi! Would you like a cup of coffee?” He was trusting and affectionate. We tried to learn something from his temperament. 

Luke was roughly fifteen when he died on Monday. We had him for thirteen years. A friend had rescued him and already had another dog so she offered him to us. He had already been named "Luke" so I thought of him as Luke the Drifter, one of Hank Williams’ recording pseudonyms.

                                                                     

I was not a dog person but Luke converted me, especially because he got along so well with our cats. What always irritated me about dogs was their eagerness to please, a quality I confused with sycophancy. Cats are independent. They don’t give a shit, which makes sense to me. They’re less likely to be disappointed. As R.S. Gwynn puts it in the final words of his villanelle “Why They Love Us” (No Word of Farewell: Selected Poems 1970–2000, 2001):

“They don’t have sense enough to see our flaws.

Thank god for that. A big round of applause

 

“For what can sniff your ass and still love you.

Dogs love us uncomplainingly because

They don’t have sense enough to see our flaws.”