Life moves fairly slowly in Outer Podunk, and last week at work the most exciting thing going on in the neighborhood around our office was a guy tearing down a decrepit old garage behind his house.
With the guy was a dog -- a huge, goofy mutt, maybe part St. Bernard, with a jowly black muzzle. All during the demolition process, the dog stayed maybe a foot behind the guy's heels, half-wagging his tail. If the guy turned, the dog turned; if the guy stopped, the dog stopped. At one point I saw the guy waving his arms in a "Get away from me!" gesture, and the dog obediently moved a few feet away, still wagging his tail, his eyes never leaving the guy.
All week long, as the project progressed, the dog kept gazing up at the guy with that canine look of sweet, confused adoration suggesting, "I really don't understand what you're doing...but you know what you're doing, and I'm with you on it. Yessirree. We're a team." (Actually, my own dog's demeanor expresses a sentiment more like, "I really don't understand what you're doing...you must be nuts." But work with me here.)
As I was watching this dramedy from my office window, it occurred to me that people of faith are a lot like this dog. We don't always get what God is doing, either in our own lives or in the big picture; it's a mystery to us. But we love God, and we want to be on God's team, so we keep following and watching and listening.
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A pastor we had explained heaven like this: An old farmer (an agnostic) went to his doctor (a Christian). The old man was very ill and knew his time was almost up. Like most humans, he was a bit nervous about what happens after his heart stops beating, so he was talking to the doc about it.
Now, the farmer, for whatever reason, had brought his dog with him to his appointment and both the doctor and the patient could hear that old dog whining on the other side of the door.
The farmer says to the doctor, "So what is heaven like?"
And the doctor, responding honestly, says, "I don't know."
The farmer expected more from an educated man who claimed Christianity as his faith and said so, vehemently. "I thought all you Christians knew what heaven was like! How come you don't?"
The doctor thought for a moment and then walked over to the door and opened it. The farmer's dog bounded into the room, tail wagging and tongue lolling, acting like he'd been separated from that old farmer for months instead of minutes.
"Has your dog ever been in my office?"
"No," replied the farmer.
"Why was he so eager to get in here?" queried the physician.
"Well, I suppose because he knew I was in here."
Then the doctor smiled and said, "That, my friend, is what heaven is like. I can't tell you what it's going to look like, or what we'll all be doing there, but I can't wait to get there, because I know that's where my Master is."
I love that story.
I think my relationship with God is more like my cat's with me. I want God around on my terms, but I prefer to make my own way. Even though God feeds, shelthers and comforts me--providing for me at every turn, I enjoy the illusion of total autonomy and independence.
I love my dog. I'm a cat person and now have a big, wild, crush on my dog. At last I understand.
He's just a stupid, geeky mutt, but he's got the typical canine heart of gold. Love, love, love and bark, bark, bark. That's the scene around our house these days.
Oh, and snacks. He's big on snacks.
(I still adore the cats, BTW. I've just figured out how to make room for this weirdo nerd of a pooch, too. I'll post a pic of him over at my blog sometime.)
I learn a lot from my dog about being present to what is before you. He loves unconditionally, but he's more likely to look at you with "I know what you want, and you can say it a hundred times...but I'm going to do what I want." That's dachshunds for you.
My dog can be...well, to be blunt, a little shit sometimes (Small Dog Syndrome combined with a hard-luck past as a rescued stud from a puppy mill...I in turn rescued him from an ex-landlady many years ago after he bit a neighbor -- a cop! -- and he became Dead Dog Walking). But he can also be incredibly endearing. He loves my mother so much...and he also keeps us all on schedule, "herding" us from task to task to make sure the household doesn't descend into (more) chaos...and he is so cute when he takes his medicine -- every evening at 8 sharp (he makes sure of this) it's time for his old-dog Lasix cocktail (aka "yucky medicine"), and when I sit him down with the syringe he lifts his nose in the air and opens his mouth like a baby bird so I can shoot it down his throat.
Bls: You know, I grew up around cats and dogs, and enjoy them for different reasons...to me a cat is like having a pleasant, indeed charming, low-maintenance roommate with a minimum of bad habits, while a dog is like a cross between a precocious child and an adoring fan;-). I sort of wanted to adopt a cat when I came back to the ol' hometown, and it almost happened when a cute li'l half-grown kitty took up residence in my garage for about a week -- I'd bought a bag of cat food and had just phoned the vet for scheduling vaccinations and spaying when...darn...the neighbors came around looking for their cat. But the two other inhabitants of my household made it quite clear, in their respective ways, that a cat would not be a popular addition to our little family, so that was that. And, right now, I don't think I have the stamina for another semi-dependent sentient being in my care. Oh, well. (Sez my dog: "We don't need no stinkin' cats!")
I love that syringe story. Makes me think back on the somewhat different experiences I've had when giving medications to felines....
Dogs are really something. They get so ingrained with doing certain things in certain ways; they are truly creatures of habit. I wonder what that's about, evolutionarily speaking? Probably just reward behavior, I suppose.
I do have to sing the Yucky Medicine Song to my dog before I give him his medicine. You know how, when you're trying to get your dog to do something you know he probably doesn't want to do, you have to make it seem like the most fun and exciting thing in the whole world?...that's the origin of the Yucky Medicine Song. And now he expects it.;-)
My mother is terrified every time I go on one of my training reteats or a work-related overnighter, because my dog expects me to do the medicine thing...he wuvs his Mom, but she's not the designated medicine dispenser, and he won't let her give him his meds...not even with the song.
You guys are breaking my petless pet-lover's heart (mainly due to poverty---w/ a side-helping of "No Pets" landlord)
(JCF: A dog-person, who has developed an affinity for cats {the dog-like affectionate kind!})
JC: Most of the cats in my life have been the "doglike" kind. Long ago I had a housemate who had a terrific cat -- Brutus had been rescued as a stray kitten and grew up in a houseful of dogs, so he acted like a dog, and was completely fearless around dogs. (His owner was so preoccupied with her issues that the other 2/3 of our household wound up taking care of him most of the time.) But among his catlike talents was an uncanny ability to open cabinets. We kept coming home from work or school and finding pots and pans all over the kitchen floor...one day I was able to sneak up on Brutus while he was working open a cabinet door, literally with his toes...he'd wiggle the space between the door and its frame...I had to keep from laughing out loud. And when he looked up and saw me, his hair stood on end and he just RAN, at breakneck speed, down the basement to hide, LOL. Cats are fun too.
One more cute dog story: My dog hates George W. Bush. Not making this up. Every time Bush comes on TV, my dog goes ballistic, hair on end, barking and growling. Of course, my dog also hates John Kerry, Howard Dean, basketball, cats and "Everybody Loves Raymond."
My mother says, "See? He's smarter than you think."
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