Dog Inspired Insight

View of St. Kitts--Atlantic Ocean on the left,
Caribbean Sea on the right

The unfailing love of the LORD never ends!
By his mercies we have been kept from complete destruction.
Great is his faithfulness;
his mercies begin afresh each day.
I say to myself, "The LORD is my inheritance;
therefore, I will hope in him!"
Lamentations 3: 22-24

Ecc. 3:11

He has made everything beautiful in its time.

He has also set eternity in the hearts of men;

yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end.

The title of this blog comes from one of my favorite poems. It has an energy and a rhythm that appeals to me and because it reminds me of Kyle, my now gone, but dearest Scottish Terrier boy, and his joyful spirit. It more importantly reminds me that in approaching the day like my dogs do, I am on a path of enlightenment. Maybe not the one most people experience, but a true one all the same.

So often my day starts with a little dog dragging me out of bed to a new day. Sometimes I go willingly, other times, I must be forced. They nudge and prod and "talk" to me until we rise together. So I wake up as best I can, pull my hair back, and get on doggy time.

In the dim light, we walk through the house and slip out the door to inspect the backyard. We try to determine how the day is shaping up. Sometimes I don't feel so great or haven't slept well, but I am always surprised that going outdoors flips a switch for me. Becoming aware of nature, I also seem to clear my head.I look at the stars that haven't quite left the sky and sometimes the slip of a moon still hanging there. When I see a few faint stars, I say "Hi, Dad."

My father loved studying space and everything in it and he passed that curiosity to me, but unfortunately I received none of the innate intelligence which allowed him to understand the things he studied. I got his raw curiosity and that's about it.

Even though working hard, long hours as a finish carpenter, my Dad went to school in the evenings over sixty miles away from our home to get his pilot's license. It was a bit late in life, but flying had been his life-long dream since he was a boy, and I will always think it says a lot about the man who was my Dad that he went after that dream and wasn't content to let it die, the way so many of our young dreams do.

I still have a school composition he wrote for an English class as a very young lad. It had kind of a noir feel to it and there was much intrigue to the piece, but the hero of the day was undoubtedly the pilot. It was easy to see even at that early age that my Dad loved the thought of flying and had a deep jones to become a flyboy himself.

I'll never forget the complete joy getting licensed in a glider was for him. He never tired of talking about the freedom of just the wings and air. It gave him an even keener appreciation for good weather and he always seemed to be commenting on whether a day would be good "flying weather." Alternately, he had a kind of philosophical outlook on poor conditions. If it happened to be raining or cloudy and overcast, he would always remind me that "the sun was shining somewhere." He always liked to remind me when we saw hawks circling on sunny days that they were "riding the thermals," just as he himself had been privileged to do.

I often think that if we are given any kind of duties in heaven, it would be very appropriate that my Dad is at this very moment in charge of a star or a planet or sweeping clouds away. Sometimes I can't help but wonder exactly what it is that he might be doing. So when I look up, I make sure to speak to him and ask how he is.

I think of Dad sometimes if the sky is very blue and the pine trees in the yard show up clearly against it. The last time Dad and I walked in the woods behind our house, we went to Wild Cat Knob, a place that no longer exists except in my memories. But that day, there were rows and rows of bright green pines shooting up against a brilliant and sunny blue fall sky. My Dad was sick, our time was short, but we both felt keenly that this small space in time held so much beauty. There were a lot of special moments in my life that my Dad missed out on, so I knew I needed to hide that moment away in my heart as something special. And now, pine trees and bright blue skies also remind me of Dad and a special time that passed between us, one we didn't let slip by.

Sometimes there in the early morning with the dogs, looking at the sky, I think about simple things, like the weather. I wonder if it will rain or snow or if sunshine and a nice breeze might come a little later in the day. The dogs sniff the air and come to their own conclusions, but keep it to themselves. They obviously know a lot more than they are able to share. The song of the birds plays in and out over everything I view--so sweet that I wonder how I ever tune it out, that it ever could be the elevator music of my outdoor life. Sweet birdsong to punctuate my thoughts, songs so changeable yet utterly perfect for each new day and season.

The dogs and I inspect the grass to see if it is wet or dry and decide if we'd like to get our feet in it. Less of a decision for the dogs than it is for me, as I always seem to end up barefoot when I'm with them. Because of that, I have realized anew that I do enjoy the feeling of grass or even mud under my feet. I usually experience that pleasure because I have followed the dogs somewhere, not because I planned it that way. Once out there, I think: "I need to do this more often. This feels good."

Doing something so natural, so pleasing, reminds me of the wild child I used to be growing up in the country, tearing through the hills and scouring wide swaths of green grass around our house to mere dusty patches, sitting in my favorite Mulberry tree, wading cold creeks to find "crawdabbers," catching lizards in the creek's backwater, and suffering through frog eggs thrown by my cousins in the Great Frog Egg Battle of '68.

My cousins were the dogs of my life back then . . . following their lead brought me to things I would never have discovered otherwise. They made me feel loved (most of the time) and invented fun games I'd never heard of and proved just how willing they were to teach me to experience life fully. I had been a lonely kid in the city, but moving to the country and near my extended family brought a lot of joy with it. They were sort of a compass for me back then, and most of the time they pointed toward fun.

Life is a bit on the quiet side compared to those days. I like to think that my dogs give me a small window back to that time, because they would be happy to do a lot of crazy things at a moment's notice. Still, they sit patiently at my side through the endless days of their short lives. They suffer through my ignorance, my stagnant thoughts and actions, and still show me affection and devotion. So, sometimes in the morning, I will sit in the porch swing and think about all these things. Sometimes the dogs sit with me, most often Bender, the baby Scottie boy, who is a lot like Kyle, and likes to be close. He lets me stick my nose in his coat and give him a good sniff. I like how he smells and he knows it. On other days, they poke about in the yard, seeing if anything new has turned up that might need smelling or peed on. There is always something. If they do discover some special kind of wonderful, they aren't content to take just a sniff, they dive in shoulder first, with their bodies to follow. They are nothing if not committed to that which they find delicious.

My dogs seem to carry with them the secret of life, the knowledge of the truer pathways. They greet the day with an expectation that something good will happen. Bad stuff might have happened in the past, but that doesn't seem to shade them with fear for the future. They wait expectantly for the next great thing to happen, and are ready and waiting to pounce on and savor that moment. They seem fully aware of their special place in God's creation and completely devoted to enjoying it in a real way--a very physical way. It appears to me that they almost dance under God's great light of love shining over them, and revel in every molecule. They experience life in a way I wish I could all the time.

Their joy at beginning a new day carries me along with them, and I find my spirits refreshed simply by sharing the world with them. I am reminded that I should wake every day with gratitude and expectant joy in my heart, just as my dogs seem to. But some days, I wake feeling off-kilter or filled with old fears. I lose focus and forget to be grateful or kind. My sick and old dogs have taught me that there is a certain nobility to continuing to do your best and to show love when things are not so good, instead of dwelling on your aches and pains or circumstances. We all wake to a day of possibility for greatness. The rest is up to us.

I am glad God uses my dogs to speak to me, to point out the things I need to change or remind me that His love is reflected to some small degree in my own relationship with them. I oversee the smallest detail of their lives, their health, their happiness, forgive them when they've done something wrong and I would swim through a flood or walk through fire to save them. It causes me to remember that I am cared for in the deepest sense of the word, that I'm forgiven, that I've been rescued, too. I’m sure that sounds like quite a leap of logic to some, but as a friend pointed out to me recently, God uses the things we love to speak to us. It's true. He created this love I have for them, and I think He uses my dogs to show me that as deep as my devotion is to them, He is an even truer, closer friend to me. I can mess things up pretty well, but he still sees me with kind and loving eyes. He lets me start over again and helps me to do better the next time.

The dog in the poem, like so many of my own little dogs, had been good all his life, had served humbly and patiently. I wonder if that gets harder or easier for dogs as the years pass. It is still hard for me, but I don't have the innocent spirit of my dogs, and I don't serve well without praise. I need a little pat on the head when I get it right. This little dog got rewarded for his fine service, too. In the poem, God grants the little dog's prayer to seize his personal doggy day, to do all he ever wanted to do in his lifetime, to indulge his selfish nature without interference from anyone. And, goodness, does he ever!

I think sometimes the real reason dogs live such short lives is because they live them so fully, unlike many of of us who waste what we are given. They are more in tune with the rhythm of nature and so make good use of exactly what they are given. I don't think dogs fear death--at least it never seemed so to me. The end of the journeys I witnessed proved to me that they know that life is here to be loved, enjoyed, and when it is over, there is nothing to fear, only better things to come. Maybe if I lived one good "dog year," I'd have done all anyone needs to do in a lifetime.

I keep in my heart the image of the little dog in the poem, dancing to greet the sun, sort of flexing his doggy muscles to get at the day, to devour it, to leave nothing undone. It is the way I like to think of all my dogs--in the here and now and in the beyond. Happy and eager and able, but most of all, blessed. It inspires me to get up and say hello to my day with new and appreciative eyes and to count my blessings all day long. 

And to throw myself headlong into this life that I love.

The little dog in the poem also reminds me that even after a long life of service, just one day of doing as I please, instead of as I ought, can have less than desirable results.

The Little Dog's Day

All in the town were still asleep,

When the sun came up with a shout and a leap.

In the lonely streets unseen by man,

A little dog danced. And the day began.

All his life he’d been good, as far as he could,
And the poor little beast had done all that he should.
But this morning he swore, by Odin and Thor
And the Canine Valhalla–he’d stand it no more!

So his prayer he got granted–to do just what he wanted,
Prevented by none, for the space of one day.
“Jam incipiedo, sedere facebo,”
In dog-Latin he quoth, “Euge ! sophos ! hurray !”

He fought with the he-dogs, and winked at the she-dogs,
A thing that had neve been heard of before,
“For the stigma of gluttony, I care not a button!” he
Cried, and ate all he could swallow–and more.

He took away sinewy lumps from the shins of old frumps,
And mangled the errand-boys–when he could get’em.
He shammed furious rabies, and bit all the babies,
And followed the cats up the trees, and then ate ‘em!

They thought t’was the devil was holding a revel,
And sent for the parson to drive him away;
For the town never knew such a hullabaloo
As that little dog raised–till the end of the day.

When the blood-red sun had gone burning down,
And the lights were lit in the little town,
Outside, in the gloom of the twilight grey,
The little dog died when he’d had his day.

July 1907, Rupert Brooke

*Jam incipiebo = Now we're on our way

*sedere facebo = I'll make them sit up

*Euge = roughly, applause

*sophos = wisdom (higher or lower, worldly or spiritual)