A while back we were at a good friend’s house for his retirement party from the Canadian Forces. They had this old rescue dog Hector. Hector was going to be a police dog, but he was too social. So he was adopted at 9 by this family who loved him dearly for many years. I watched at this party while this soldier and the men he served with stood around talking. They can sound pretty harsh at times, I rarely notice anymore, but sometimes they are a little rough around the edges, these combat vets, and the fact that most were either retired or serving leadership positions now made it even more so. They are jaded. Tired. They can be a little … We will say cranky. Hector, well up in his years, he was laying on the floor in the middle of their little half circle. Until someone noticed he didn’t quite make it to standing and had wet himself before flopping back down. I guess I maybe expected annoyance or frustration from the guys, but I saw the opposite. Compassion. Understanding. A lot of “oh buddy, my knees hurt too…” While they carefully cleaned him up and moved him somewhere more comfortable, patting his head and scratching his ears and reassuring him they got him. Every one of them. And then I listened amazed as their conversation then moved inwards. As they cared for the dog they asked about each other, and they did what they rarely do even amongst themselves: they opened up. Because really, they were just telling the dog how they were doing. Their brothers just happened to be standing around. My heart ached because Hector, even a little broken and a lot old, he was still doing…