When snuggles aren’t love

Five years ago we brought home four chickens.

The two wyandottes, Olive and Rosie, were just SO FLUFFY, and as round as soccer balls.

The two barnevelders, Gretel and Clementine, had the most striking plumage. The orange of their neck feathers inspired Clementine’s name, and the black lacing was in places so dark it reflected iridescent purple and green in the right light.

Olive, Rosie, Gretel and Clementine

I was smitten. I loved them so much, and I longed to pick them up and snuggle them and pat their soft feathers and coo adoration at them.

But if we approached to pick them up they would run. Once we had them in our arms they would wriggle. Once we opened our arms to put them down they would leap away. Once away, they maintained their distance, never once approaching us to be picked up. 

It was clear that the love I wanted to give them - snuggling and patting and cooing - was not the love they wanted to receive.

So instead of picking them up, I would sit at a distance and appreciate their presence. They learnt to eat out of my hand, and I learnt to be grateful for a mutually enjoyable exchange, and not to push it by reaching to pat a chicken who didn't want to be patted.

Unfortunately for me, Mango isn’t a snuggler either. When she was a puppy she’d occasionally nestle her chin onto my chest, and I’d stroke her velvet ears. Sometimes she still does that when she’s sick. But mostly she’s not a snuggler, and she’ll often turn away from pats if she’s not in the right mood.

In a good mood Mango is ambivalent about snuggles. At worst, she actively dislikes them. The thought of snuggling her despite this doesn’t sit well with me.

Forced, unreciprocated affection isn’t cute; it’s creepy. 

The intention - expressing love - may be good, but it is undermined if the other party feels uncomfortable, restrained, stressed, or possibly even fearful. To me, the pretense of mutual affection isn’t worth sacrificing another being’s comfort and agency for. 

And so, as with the chickens, I find ways to express my love that speaks to Mango’s sense of it.

I ask her ‘do you want a tummy rub?’ and she rolls over, and I delight in her reaction to having her belly rubbed. If you find the right spot and rhythm she’s likely to drift off to sleep, content.

I say ‘good morning!’ each morning when I rise, and I massage her shoulders as she does her big morning stretch. 

I treasure each enthusiastic greeting of hers when I get home after being out. She leaps and licks and runs around with her ‘happy ears’ on.

It’s like love languages - we often need to communicate in the love language that isn’t ours but the recipient’s when expressing love. It’s the same for our dogs.

Mango’s love language is belly rubs and excited greetings. And I respect that.