For as long as humans have been on this earth, there have been many languages that have allowed us to communicate and express ourselves with others. Language is a sort of glue that bonds not just humans but animals too. Growing up I always knew 2 languages, as I went to an all-English school in Ecuador and was taught English and Spanish. Language is a mixture of how people speak to you and your life experiences. If language were just words, how would dogs and other animals understand us? Honey was only 3 months old when my dad bought her and no one else could understand us like she could. Language has tones and other qualities that give its uniqueness and turn just words into actual meaning. Honey was originally bought to be a guard dog but that didn’t work out as Honey was gentle and wouldn’t even hurt a fly. Honey did have a brother though, Peluche was my second dog which although small, would bark and bite anyone who got close to him. However, not Honey, for some reason Honey was able to understand and speak to Peluche something that not anyone, not even the vet could do. It’s not like dogs have some sort of code or language they speak through, they just bark, and that was enough for Peluche and Honey to get along. I grew a little older and so did they, and when I was 5, I would always see Peluche and Honey throwing around one of my old shoes that I grew out of. They would play often and over time Honey became really close to Peluche, more so than my sister, who was the one who found him. Although I was scared of Peluche, it was gray when he had escaped. We found Peluche a few roads down, completely missing his upper torso and part of his throat, like he was forced to silence. Sadly, the damage was too great, and he had to be put down silently at the vet. For some reason Honey knew she was gone, she didn’t wait, rather she mourned the loss of her best friend hoping one day to see each other again. More time grew and my parents decided to leave Ecuador and go back to New York for better opportunities for me and my siblings. Getting used to New York wasn’t difficult as I was in a mainly Spanish school for elementary school. However middle school was a bit different as I was now surrounded by people that came from places I couldn’t even understand. This was so new to me and being in such a diverse place I really started to understand other cultures and started loving their food. There was a friend of mine called Gian and although he was new to the school, he was also new to the country and didn’t know much English. Most of the time we would communicate with just head nods and the little English he knew. One day someone called him out for being chubby, but he didn’t know the word and just laughed because that’s all he knew to do. Something around him told me that he did feel sad, and although didn’t understand the words, knew that he was being made fun of. How did he understand them? How did I understand him? No words were used but enough was said. This was the moment that I really realized what Peluche and Honey felt, language wasn’t orderly, and words were not needed to bring people together or apart. I went back to Ecuador later that year and was finally able to see Honey after a long time apart. I arrived and as soon as I got out of the car, she ran up to me and got her hind legs, she was so big that she was just as tall as me as she held herself up using my shoulders. Although she looked meaner, she was just as kind. I really valued Honey and for most of the month I was there I played with her and got her some new toys. So much time had passed, and she still loved that old shoe. She still threw it around like she had just found it although it had been destroyed beyond belief and didn’t even look like a shoe anymore. Honey ever since a baby, always respected my dad and she knew that she wasn’t allowed in the house. Even when me and my sibling would try to push her through the door, she wouldn’t budge and would insist on staying outside. My dad and Honey never talked, my dad didn’t even care enough to play with her, but almost as if they had an agreement, she did not enter the house. I always believed that this was due to fear of my dad but growing up I realized that she did this out of respect, not fear. She loved my dad so much that she upheld his rules and protected our house not with fear but with love. Honey passed away in her sleep about 5 years ago now, she died from sickness and was buried right in front of the house. I’ll always remember her gentle barks and how she would tell us how happy she was with me whenever she licked my face clean. Language isn’t just words, it’s memories tone, and love. Although Honey isn’t alive to protect the house anymore, the lessons she taught me are on my shoulders and will forever live in me.