The Edge of the Bed
Most nights, I sleep on the edge of our large king-sized bed. Not because Dawn pushes me there, she’s too kind for that, but because of Pierre, our small, white Bichon Frise, who seems to believe that love requires no personal space.
Pierre doesn’t just want to be near us; he wants to be part of us. If we’re home, he’s curled beside us. If we leave, he cries. When we return, he erupts into a joyful dance, crying again, but this time out of pure happiness. He watches for us from the window, scanning every car that passes, convinced that each one might bring his people home.
At night, he wedges himself between us, pressing against my chest or curling behind my back. Sometimes, he sleeps longwise, so he is lodged between Dawn and me. And, not just touching… he is anchored. I used to wonder why he needed that much closeness, why he couldn’t just lie beside us and rest. But then it dawned on me: he can feel our heartbeat. He can sense every breath we take. He is syncing himself to our heartbeats and our breathing. Our life. It’s his way of making sure we’re real, alive, still there. We are, for him, a living reassurance. That he is one with us.
And perhaps, in his simple canine wisdom, Pierre understands something about love that we humans often forget. In his own wordless way, he’s listening for the pulse that reassures him… you are not alone.
The Heartbeat of Connection
We live in a world where we’ve made comfort more accessible, but connection has become more elusive. We scroll past hundreds of faces online, yet can’t remember the last time we sat in silence beside someone just to listen to them breathe. We fill our homes with devices that talk to us, but not with people who listen. Pierre would never mistake digital proximity for presence. He doesn’t need conversation, credentials, or compatibility; he needs heartbeat and breath.
Humans are not so different. Beneath our differences of skin color, political beliefs, religion, or lifestyle, our hearts are beating too. Every person you meet carries that same rhythm of life inside them. Sometimes, we just need to be reminded that others are alive, that they feel.
Clients, students, neighbors, and even strangers need that same assurance: I see you. I feel that you exist.
Connection doesn’t require agreement. It requires presence. The willingness to lean close enough, physically, emotionally, spiritually, to hear another person’s heartbeat.
Pierre’s Lesson
Pierre doesn’t calculate love. He doesn’t wonder who’s right or wrong, or who deserves his affection. His world makes sense when he’s near the ones he loves, when he can hear their hearts and match their rhythm. Everything else, like safety, comfort, joy, flows from that closeness.
What if that’s our design too?
What if we rediscovered that our deepest security comes not from being right, powerful, or admired, but from being connected?
We’re all sleeping on the edge of something… our beds, our beliefs, our busy lives, just trying to find a place where we can rest against another heartbeat. Maybe it’s time to scoot closer.
Because in the end, Pierre’s simple truth holds: when we are with each other, everything else is taken care of.
Dr. Wesley