#BeLoyal

“I have a loyalty that runs in my bloodstream, when I lock into someone or something, you can't get me away from it because I commit that thoroughly. That's in friendship, that's a deal, that's a commitment. Don't give me paper - I can get the same lawyer who drew it up to break it. But if you shake my hand, that's for life.”

-Jerry Lewis

Chatting with the dog that ran away ...

The incessant, ear-numbing buzzing and intermittent clicking ballooned into an all-consuming, loud monotone groan that filled our humid summer nights in 2008. The giant cicadas of Southwestern Ohio had emerged after their seventeen-year slumber to fill up our skies, and seemingly every square inch of the ground. As the cicadas went about their merry way, planning and executing the acts necessary to guarantee that some seventeen years later their brood would cause humanity similar headaches, one young dog discovered that these cicadas were delicious morsels to hunt and snack on. In our backyard, after dark set in, the groan of the cicadas would be surreptitiously interrupted with a snap, smack, and a satisfied chewing. Paws, our three-year-old labrador-mix rescue had the time of his life that summer. Memories of Paws leaping into the air, grabbing cicadas mid-flight, growling at the ones that got away, and then walking up to me with a smug “see what I did there, Dad?” look, will live with me forever.

Eleven years after binging on those cicadas, Paws ran away from our home. Our neighbor, Fran, happened to be driving on a road parallel to the bike path on which she spotted Paws strutting along. Fran frantically called her husband, Larry, who grabbed a leash that hung in their garage and sprinted after Paws. Then, Fran rummaged through her phone list to find and call my wife’s mobile number. My wife, horrified that Paws would take off during a routine “bathroom break to the backyard,” called me on her way out our home’s front door begging me to come home from the office and join the search party.

A pang of fear tore through my heart as I learned that the cavalry was out chasing down our dog. Paws, after all, had never strayed from our pack in his many years with us. One night, when he was about six, we’d let him out to the backyard and forgot to let him back in. He’d just curled up quietly by the back door and slept outside on the doormat the entire night. He was wagging eagerly to be let back indoors the following morning. Paws exemplified loyalty. He hung out close by our boys as they played, read, learned and grew. He snored away by my feet as I took work calls from home. He stayed within the confines of our yard no matter where we had lived. I could not understand why he’d run off that day. I wondered if Paws was running away because he was growing weaker with age. Was he seeking some solitude as he was edging closer to his final moments?

Larry found Paws a half mile away from our homes and led him back. When I returned home from the office that evening, I plopped myself on the floor next to the tan fur ball, his super-wet nose and looked deeply into his big, brown eyes that I could always feel myself dissolve in. Taking his namesake inspiration, humongous right front paw into my hand, I stroked the soft top fur and whispered to him “Paws, this is your house, and I am yours. You stay here, with me, until you no longer can. I am loyal to you, as you are to me. I want to be with you when you die and I want you to be with me if I die first. Stay here, I’ve got you.”

I’ve been burned by my loyalty …

“You’re loyal to a fault,” John said, as he looked at me across his conference table, his hands clasped together under his chin, elbows stiffly propped on the tabletop. He could see the disappointment brimming in my eyes as I spilled my guts to him about yet another job opportunity I had been passed over for. I had just finished expressing to John how I’d gone above and beyond to make my boss successful. I thought of it as helping push this boss to the top of a boulder. Then, when I looked up to see if this person was reaching back down to pull me up, I saw no hand there. Being my mentor, my operational partner and my friend, John always listened intently as I spoke. Then, he’d give me his guidance, he’d speak the unvarnished truth and he’d set me straight. “Rahul, you’ve got to look for a team where your loyalty is reciprocated,” John advised. “Move on.”

John’s words stung. I had invested in and devoted years to a career where I firmly believed that if I uplifted my team, the people I worked with, and my boss, then they would in turn uplift me. My expectations went unmatched this time. I left John’s office and continued searching my soul for answers. I could not understand whether I was disappointed by the lack of reciprocity or whether I simply expected too much. Inexplicably, I doubled-down, continued working hard to support John and other people I worked with.

Loyalty is fickle, maybe even a paradox ...

Psychology researchers Dr. Heather Barry Kappes, of the London School of Economics, and Dr. Tom Tyler, of Yale University, found that those that are loyal and devoted to their organizations do in fact double-down with a sense of commitment when faced with unfairness. Wray Hebert, of the Association of Psychological Science, in summarizing Dr. Kappes and Dr. Tyler’s research says that when a group member realizes the group’s failures, “group members’ loyalty is not so fragile that they jump ship with just a little disillusionment; they stay to help strengthen the group and correct its course.” Disappointment, then, sometimes begets more loyalty. At least temporarily. Wray Hebert calls this “the paradox of loyalty.” After my meeting with John, I began living this paradox.

Loyalty is primal and ingrained in humanity. Early humans relied on loyalty within their own groups to protect and provide for each other. Yet, as with any herd or pack, individual humans also were motivated by status. All individuals, at some point in their journey with their group, make an effort to be the Alpha. Confucius noted, "By nature, men are nearly alike; by practice, they get to be wide apart." Modern humanity, then, finds itself consumed with social status concepts of superiority, inferiority, inclusivity and exclusivity in the incessant search for individuality. Some humans resort to standing on their own plane, while others still strive to stand with their group. In certain cases Alphas demand loyalty and devotion, and some of their subjects willingly comply, no matter the personal cost. We see this dynamic in the political arena. Product brands demand loyalty with promises of rewards. We see these transactional loyalties in the reward cards we lug around in our wallets. Submissive or purchased loyalties never last. Why then, do some people loyally stand with their group despite no Alpha-demands or promises of reward? Why do we willingly face the risk of betrayal or disappointment from lack of reciprocity? Cicero says, “Nothing is more noble, nothing more venerable, than loyalty.”

I learned loyalty from my dog ...

Two weeks ago, some nineteen months after Paws tried to run away, I found myself doubled-over, sobbing uncontrollably on the floor of our veterinary clinic. I gasped for air, my face mask drenched in my flood of tears and the rain of spittle from my mouth, a result of my alternating howls and whimpers. No amount of gasping, it seemed, would move the boulder of loss I felt on my chest. I petted Paw’s soft head with my right palm as I supported it’s unbearable heaviness with my left. At fifteen years of age, after a long struggle with his aging body, Paws was quietly gone with his head resting in my hands. He constantly stayed at my side through eight months of my stay at home for the pandemic. He consoled me laying his head in my lap as I grappled with a career transition. Paws instinctively understood when I was distressed. When Paws was a year old, he accidentally nipped me during a game of fetch, drawing blood from my finger. He immediately dropped the ball from his mouth and began nudging my hand with his wet nose, as if encouraging me to go take care of my injury. He followed me back into our house, watched me as I cleaned my wound and bandaged it, and would not leave my side. Paws had my back. He signaled that he would be there to protect, defend and watch over me, no matter what circumstance we faced together. And, true to his promise, he was always there.

Paws’s journey covered many miles. Born on a farm in Kansas, and adopted by my family in Missouri, he moved with us to Ohio and then New York. He quickly settled in each of his new homes because he didn’t care about his surroundings as much as he cared about being around our family. I often joked with friends, who were intimidated by Paws’s large size, that Paws would be any burglar’s best friend as they burgled our house. His gentle nature converted those who feared dogs into dog-lovers and inspired a few friends to adopt their own dogs. Having grown up together, Paws was intensely devoted to both my boys. For years, he’d walk out into the driveway each morning to watch as the boys boarded their school bus, only coming back into the house once the bus had departed. As time neared for the boys to return from school, he’d stand by the front door and ask to be let out so that he could greet them as they walked back up the driveway. Paws taught all of us that being there and caring for each other is what good pack-members do. Loyalty simply is caring for another and having each other’s back. Loyalty may leave us vulnerable to betrayal or those who intend to only take from us, but loyalty given freely is true love. Loyalty borne of integrity and trust allows us to better live our values and purpose. 

My case for being loyal …

We all, no matter whether we’re related, work colleagues, friends, acquaintances or strangers, are part of each other’s pack. Uplifting each other is vital to our collective future. When a hand pushes us up a boulder, our allegiance demands that we turn around and extend our hand back and lift that hand, and the person it belongs to, up the boulder with us. When we find that our loyalty is not reciprocated, we need to step in and help create the environment where another person does not face that same fate. When we care for each other; stand with each other; have each other’s backs; when we hold each other’s paw, and commit to each other, then we collectively ascend the barriers to a more abundant and more generous world. I encourage you to #BeLoyal to another.

Gratitude

I am deeply grateful for the loyalty lessons Paws taught me during his time with our family. We’ll never forget the laughter and joy he brought us with every snowflake he chased during the cold winters. We’ll always remember the bewildered looks on his face when those snowflakes met their nemesis, Paws’s own wet nose. We’ll fondly recall the smiling curl at the edges of his lips as we petted his head and massaged his ear tips. We’ll continue looking for his shadow in all the sunniest spots in our house where he’d take his daytime naps. Most of all, we’ll cherish that he loved us, cared about us deeply and that he was always there. Rest in peace, my boy. I will love you and be loyal to you, always.