If you know dogs, this is not sacrilege. You won't
shout, "Blasphemy!" If you don't know dogs, God is as
forgiving. And perhaps, in another life, you will be so
blessed.
My old dog is dying. I have known his eyes for quite nearly
thirteen years. Let me tell you about those eyes.
In his youth, those eyes saw fun. They saw joy and mischief
with an innocence no human can attain. Even the eyes of a
baby human possess a knowledge of self, of ego. But not a
dog. A baby dog is relieved of any self-awareness. I think
God knew that we would need a constant reminder, so He gave
us dogs.
My old dog, whose every breath is an effort right now, was a
puppy who showed me the divine. "How?" say the deprived. How
could a dog point to heaven? Well, I answer, does
an angel of the Lord waste a moment on worry? Doesn't an
angel of the Lord revel in the beauty of today? Does an
angel love me for all of my imperfections, all of my
slights, in spite of my atrocious inattention?
My old dog was an example. He was physical perfection;
Michaelangelo's David blushed in comparison. In his prime,
my old dog hunted with purpose, without agenda, by instinct.
He was without deliberation when he killed. He showed me the
Law of Nature. I learned that if God gave me the priviledge
of being able to think about killing, with that
priviledge came the responsibility of not. Of
finding ways to work things out.
My old dog's eyes showed me God. If my husband left me for a
week, without explaining where he was going, without telling
me he would be back, would I leap for joy straight into his
arms and shower him with kisses when he returned? I would
accuse him of all kinds of infidelities and worse. I would
bathe him in the boiling oil of my own insecurities. But my
old dog showed me The Way. I leave him for a week, and when
I get back I am bathed in love and adoration. Gratitude.
"You came back!" "I missed you." The proverbial
all-loving Father welcoming his prodigal son. Humans are
incapable of such love. Dogs and God.
He has slept in my bedroom for all of his life. I wonder
about humans who chain their dogs in the back yard. Or
worse. There is so much worse. We nailed our own God to a
couple of twelve by twelves, so why should I worry about all
those dogs chained in backyards? Because God sent me my old
dog so I would know better? Because He created me: this soul
who was born loving the creatures He made first? I look into
the eyes of my old dog, and I see that God.
In my old dog's eyes I can see a God who loves the Humans
who kill each other for what? Oil? Power? Revenge? Wealth?
Humans who leave Him all the time, and use His name to
justify, or excuse, their agendas. They come home to Him and
He still does a happy dance. He welcomes us.
How did I see all of this in my old dog's eyes? I looked
with my heart, and I listened with my soul. It was all
there, in my old dog's eyes.
