I saw the naturalist with the mule deer on PBS ("Nature," from 2014). Beautiful relationships, quiet, like Bud Branigan and horses.
Compared to them, my giving of love (as I understood it) has always been transactional: doing, being done for. I know it's because that's all I received in my sadly underdeveloped family. We didn't have the real thing, so I hardened my heart (or tried to). "That's all I can expect, so get used to it."
I feel like apologizing to my dogs and to anyone else who ever tried to love me.
Perhaps I can learn to expect -- or hope for -- better. At least I can feel the difference. If I want to set this new standard, I have to name my family's (and my previous) "love" as not-love, something responsible, well intended, and lonely. I can do that.