Dogs & God

I’m a hopeless dog lover. My wife occasionally accuses me of giving more attention to the dog than her. I tell her that if she responded the way our dog does every time I walk through the door, things might be different. J

I grew up with dogs. Rebel, my first dog, was my same age. We grew up together. I would come home from school every day, ditch the lunch box (yes, I lived through the era of metal lunch boxes), grab the dog and head outside. We hiked the woods, braved the creek, chased squirrels, ya know, man stuff. We’d take naps together, he’d eat my table scraps under the table (even vegetables, except that one occasion with the cooked spinach which ended very, very badly for me). He boated with us in the summer and sled with us in the winter. He was such a good boy – gentle, adventurous, sensitive and loyal. I loved that dog.

My wife grew up with dogs, but she lived on a farm, and from what I gather from farm families and their dogs, there’s not much of a love connection there. These dogs were outside dogs, never allowed in the house, rarely pet, and never, and I repeat never, allowed to eat food from out of your mouth (Rebel used to love that).

So as Tasha and I were “courting” seriously, one of our first disagreements was whether we’d have a dog. “We have to have a dog,” I’d say. “A big dog, like Rebel!” She would give me one of those disgusted looks as if I had just allowed a dog to eat out of my mouth. “We are not getting a dog,” she’d insist. After many such showdowns, I figured I’d lost that battle. And I loved her so much that if marrying her meant I’d have to live without a dog, then so be it (translation: I knew I could wear her down and we’d get a dog anyway).

 Well low and behold, when our big day came, Tasha’s wedding gift to me was, you guessed it, a dog. The day we returned from our honeymoon, we picked up a little 7-week old yellow lab who we affectionately named Cooper. Coop is not yellow, he’s white as snow, making him look like a mini-polar bear and he is about the best dog you’ll ever meet. Totally chill from birth, some say he’s an “old soul” – calm, steadfast, loving and true. In other words, he’s a lot like Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh.

What does all this have to do with living the Gospel. I dunno, but a friend of mine recently quoted an age-old truism that I don’t think I’ll ever forget:

“Be the person your dog thinks you are.” 

No matter where you’ve been or what you’ve done or how badly you’ve messed things up, a dog will love you with that insatiable love, overflowing with the kind of lavish joy as if you were the only person in the world, as if he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment of reunion. A dog only sees the very best in you.

Kinda like God.

But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him. . . For this son of mine was lost and is now found.

Luke 15:20, 24