Not only was she the runt and the smallest of the litter, she was also, admittedly, the ugliest. Her scarce fur was a mousy brown color, she was scrawny, and in every sense of the word–she was just a mutt. Even her own mother, Lady, preferred her older brother, Bear, over her.
Runt, my parents named her. It was an unremarkable name for an unremarkable dog. Lady was constantly licking and doting on her precious pup, Bear–who got his name because, you guessed it, he looked like a bear–often neglecting Runt and leaving her to to fend for herself.
My dad was 25 years old at the time living in a tiny home with his newlywed wife among the pecan groves in Milledgeville, Georgia. Their golden retriever had given birth to a litter of puppies and Bear and Runt never made it to new homes. While Bear was the apple of his mother’s eye, Runt had fallen in love with my dad…and my dad loved Runt. “You’re so beautiful”, he would lovingly reassure her as he rubbed the soft patch of fur behind her ears. “You’re such a good dog,” he would say as he’d crack open a pecan and split its tender center between them. Runt followed him everywhere, and a more loyal dog could never be found.
My dad is one of the greatest story tellers of all-time. He used to kneel by our bedsides as children and tell us all kinds of stories before we’d fall asleep…stories I remember to this day. I first heard the story of Runt when I was just a young girl and although it’s a story I’ve heard many times, the life lesson I took from it is one that I’ll always carry with me.
“We had gone hunting that day, Runt and me…” he shared. “We had just passed through a thicket in the middle of the woods when I heard a loud ‘SNAP!’ behind me. I turned back to see Runt’s paw stuck in the metal jaws of a bear trap. She howled in pain and I rushed over to help her. About the time I kneeled down to pull the trap apart and release her paw, Runt reached out and bit me!”
My eyes grew wider as he stopped at this point in the story and asked, “Now, do you think Runt wanted to bite me?”
I slowly shook my head ‘no’ but wasn’t really confident in my answer.
“NO! Of course not,” he said. “Runt loved me. But sometimes when we’re in pain, we reach out and hurt those closest to us.”
My dad was eventually able to sweet-talk Runt to calm her down while he pulled the trap apart wide enough to release her foot and set her free.
When I was five, this story was about a dog. At 30, this story is about everyone.
Runt probably never imagined…in whatever way that dogs might imagine things…that she would end up immortalized in a blog one day. Or that the lesson she taught my dad that day would later change my perspective on the way I interact with people to this very day. This is what I learned from Runt:
When your spouse comes home from a long, awful day at work and snaps at you the moment they walk through the door for seemingly no reason: Forgive them
When your child is mean to you after they’ve just gotten in trouble, been embarrassed, or after they’ve had a bad day at school: Love them
When your friend says something hurtful or gives you the cold shoulder after going through a difficult time: Give them grace
Oftentimes people (just like animals) in their moments of pain or difficulty will reach out and “bite” whoever is standing closest to them…and it’s more often than not someone they care about very much. When people are mean, rude, or just plain hateful to someone they love–sometimes it’s because they know it’s a safe place to share their pain. Does that make it ok? No, but it should make it easier on the receiving end to extend forgiveness.
This is not only a helpful lesson in understanding others’ behavior, but also in understanding our own sometimes. I believe self-awareness to be one of the greatest markers of maturity in human beings. Knowing and understanding your own flaws, weaknesses, blind spots, and shortcomings–and being able to verbalize those and see how your actions negatively affect others is important. Knowing how you react when in pain is important.
I’ll give a real-life example.
October 2014. I was in labor with my son.
34. Longgg. Hours. Of. Labor. They induced me on a Thursday and he was born on Saturday. I was convinced I was going to have a natural, pain-medication-free birth. If you don’t know me, I’m slightly crunchy. What does that mean? It means something somewhere in the spectrum between buying organic produce but not quite letting my armpit hairs grow wild and free, if you know what I mean.
Anyway, no one had told me that pitocin, the synthetic form of oxytocin which induces labor, can cause some pretty rough contractions. Friends who have experienced both types of labor have told me that their induced labors were much more difficult than their natural ones, and after my experience I definitely admire women who have given birth naturally without medication. I should have known something was up when my nurse looked at my 3-page long (single spaced, I might add) birth plan detailing my “natural” preferences, and she smiled. And not in a “wow, that’s great” sort of way…but in a “she’s obviously a first-timer with no clue what’s about to go down and I’m slightly annoyed” kind of way..like she was possibly looking forward to watching me suffer in some slightly sadistic way but fortunately for me, baby didn’t come on her shift so unfortunately for her she didn’t get the chance.
I stuck to my plan for the first 27 hours before I finally caved and got the drugs. And oh hallelujah for those drugs! I’ll spare you the juicy details, but once my water broke, it felt like every bone in my body was breaking…at the same time. My contractions were coming every 30 seconds with little time to recover in between. It was an unfathomable pain. Like, how can you hurt this bad and not die? For hours I labored this way, with the pitocin drip basically on full blast, thinking (and praying) baby would come any minute…but he had other plans.
The first few hours of my labor were all like “let’s play worship music and stare deeply into each other’s eyes so we can share in this beautiful moment!” The rest of the time before my epidural was more like “TURN OFF THE MUSIC AND DO NOT SPEAK TO ME OR TOUCH ME OR I WILL CUT YOU!” Then something like “no no no no NOOO!!” as I braced myself in the fetal position against the handrails of my hospital bed when the next contraction was approaching. I’m slightly ashamed for some of the words I spoke during that time to my husband and my mother, who were both in the room with me.
Luckily they were forgiving and all was forgotten once our sweet boy finally made his grand appearance and became the new, instant center of attention. Sometimes when in pain, we lash out at the people closest to us. Sometimes when we’re hurting, we are less than awesome. For my next two babies (my children refuse to come out on their own, apparently), I got the drugs earlier and spared my family from seeing the “Runt” within me. And I think there’s a lesson in that for all of us.
My dad pictured with my newborn son and two fur babies, 2014.
New Jenneration 
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