Be the Dog
The Simple Truth About Love, Connection, and Letting People In
A Childhood Memory Rediscovered
Growing up, I still have vivid memories of my father watching Leo Buscaglia on PBS. At the time, I was too young to grasp the significance of what Leo was saying—his words were just another part of the background noise of my childhood. But I remember the energy in his voice, the way he spoke with his whole body, the laughter, and the passion that poured out of him like a force of nature. Even as a kid, I could tell he wasn’t like other people you saw on TV. There was something raw, something urgent about the way he talked about love—not as some abstract, romantic ideal but as something practical, tangible, and vital to life itself.
Years later, long after my father had passed and even after Leo himself left this world on June 12, 1998, at the age of 74, I found myself drawn back to those words. I can’t say for certain what led me there. Maybe it was nostalgia, or maybe it was some winding path of personal growth that just happened to bring me back to the voice I had once ignored. It’s strange how life works sometimes—how one memory buried deep in your past can resurface when you need it most, revealing a wisdom you weren’t ready for the first time around.
And of all the things I’ve heard since reconnecting with Leo’s teachings, one quote has stayed with me the longest. Not because it’s about money, status, or success—all the usual measures by which we pretend to gauge a life well-lived—but because it speaks to something much deeper. It’s about how we connect with others. How we let ourselves be seen. How we invite love into our lives, or, just as often, how we unknowingly push it away.
The Power of Letting Yourself Be Seen
The following is from one of Leo’s legendary PBS lectures. For all I know, it could have been playing in the background of my childhood home while I ran through the house, oblivious to its importance. But hearing it again, all these years later, I realize just how powerful it is:
One more thing that I want to share, and that is the importance of communication. Your ability to let people know, and to let people know adequately and honestly who you are, what you're feeling, what you're thinking, because in this way we'll know we're not magicians, we're not mind readers. You have to be able to express it. One of the most incredible things that ever happened in Love Class, and maybe I've told you this before, I don't know, but it's worth repeating because it was so wonderful, was an evening when a dog came to class. Everyone's welcomed in Love Class. We have all ages. Love is not the prerogative of the young. We have a lot to learn from people who have been loving for many years, but we don't ask them anymore. We stash them away in Sun City. A dog came in, wagging its tail. It saw all these loving people, felt all these vibrations and charged right into the middle. And everybody reached out and started petting this animal like crazy. It was wagging its tail. Class went on as normal. Nobody stopped. It was a dog. Allof a sudden, a young lady in the class screamed, DAMN!
You know, that always stops everything. And we turned around and we looked at her and she said, "You know, ever since I came into this class, I've been on the verge of tears. I'm dying of loneliness. No one has touched me. No one has said anything to me. A dog comes into this room and everybody goes mad over this dog." And one fellow said without a moment's hesitation, "But you know, maybe it's because the dog let us know, by what it did, that it was all right to love him and maybe you looked like you didn't need love and that you weren't lov-a-ble." She said, Well, "I want you all to know that I am." Then she got on all fours and crawled through the group, and she got so much love, and you wouldn't believe it. So you can sit there and die of loneliness, or you can speak out. You can say to somebody, I need you. It's the greatest compliment. You're also going to find people that are afraid. When you say, “I need you,” they're going to run, but they're not the people you needed anyway, so let them go.
It’s a simple but profound truth: we often blame the world for our loneliness when, in reality, we are the ones holding up the barriers. We expect people to read our minds, to sense our unspoken needs, to reach out without us ever signaling that we want them to. But people aren’t mind readers. And life isn’t a movie where the right person magically appears at the right time just because we long for them in silence.
Leo’s reference to Sun City is a fleeting one, but it holds a deeper significance. For those unfamiliar, Sun City was one of the first large-scale retirement communities in the U.S., built on the idea that older people should have their own space, separate from the rest of society. It was a revolutionary concept at the time, but it also unintentionally reinforced the idea that once people reach a certain age, they have nothing more to offer. Yet, those who have spent a lifetime loving—who have figured out what really matters—are often the ones we should be listening to the most. Instead, we disconnect from them, and in doing so, we lose the wisdom of those who got it right. We stop learning from people who could guide us toward deeper, more meaningful connections.
What Would Your Dog Do?
And that brings me back to the dog.
Leo’s story captures the simplicity of the dog’s actions—how it walked in, made itself known, and received love in return. But there’s something he didn’t mention, something any dog owner knows instinctively: dogs have an uncanny ability to sense truth in people. They don’t just rush up to anyone. They have an internal radar for sincerity, an almost mystical ability to know who means well and who doesn’t.
In many ways, dogs are the gatekeepers of the home. They welcome those who bring warmth and sincerity, and they bristle at those who don’t. It makes you wonder—what if we applied the same principle in our own lives?
What if, before opening ourselves up, we first asked, What would my dog do?
Even if you don’t have a dog, it’s a worthwhile question. Maybe we, too, could learn to sense the genuineness in others—to recognize who is safe to let in and who is better kept at arm’s length. Maybe we could become our own gatekeepers, not shutting the world out in fear, but filtering in the people who truly see us, who accept us, who bring love rather than take it away.
Leo’s lesson was about communication, about making ourselves known so we don’t silently suffer in loneliness. But there’s another lesson hidden within it—the lesson of the dog. Don’t just let love in. Learn to recognize where real love exists. And when you find it, don’t hesitate. Wag your tail. Step into the room. And be the dog.
Though I linked the current day source for the PBS lectures I have no idea if they include the one with the quote referenced above. I know a more editted version is in the book Living, Loving and Learning which is part of a larger collection hosted here.
