Dogs Who Teach Us To Heal

“What’s your favorite color?” I asked the boy as he ran his hand over the bandana tied to Deion’s neck.

“Orange, I guess. Or yellow.” He answered.

Knowing there was a bright orange bandana among the ones we had at home I replied, “Well, I think Deion has an orange one, he’ll wear it next time we meet.”

“Or I could bring one!” He replied, excitedly. “My mom has a bunch because she has cancer.”

I knew this moment may come when I volunteered Deion, my beloved therapy Dobe, and myself to partner with a child at the Gathering Place camp at Rescue Village, but still my mouth and heart struggled with an appropriate response. In my human-ness, I wanted to say the perfect thing. Something filled with comfort and understanding. Instead I said, “oh.” Brilliant.

“All the kids here have a mom or dad that has cancer, that’s what the camp is all about.” He added matter-of-factly. “Some of their parents are real sick.”

I was amazed at this 7 year-old boy’s frankness and transparency. Cancer was a fact and a way of life. “How’s your mom?” I stupidly spit out. Knowing a bit of the circumstances that we were briefed on prior to the camp but not aware of how he felt or his comfort level on discussing it.

“Oh, she’s doing real good!” He said with a smile on his face. He had bailed me out. We both looked down at Deion and stroked his shiny, black coat. Deion was silent.

I’ve replayed this dialogue over and over in my head. Each time, I think of something more profound I could have said. A better question I could have asked. A sentence I might have uttered that would have made this little boy with a face full of freckles and hope, understand his life as he now knew it, but I said, “oh”. I guess there were worse things I could have said. But as I glance over at Deion today, enjoying the sun warming the boards of our deck, I envy his gift of silence and am given a vivid reminder of Job 2:11-13, paraphrasing: “Now when Job’s three friends heard of all this evil that had come upon him, they each came from his own place....And they sat with him on the ground seven days and seven nights, and no one spoke a word to him, for they saw that his suffering was very great.”

I can picture the scene. Job, crumpled to ground, sitting outside the city gates in shame with his three friends surrounding him, their arms around his shoulders, their faces drawn in pain for their friend, and their mouths shut as Job mourns. The problem is, their mouths didn’t stay shut. Their human nature takes over and their words become daggers and salt. They lay blame and construct possible scenarios to justify God’s plan for Job’s life until Job declares, “As for you, you whitewash with lies; worthless physicians are you all. Oh that you would keep silent, and it would be your wisdom.” (Job 13:4,5). I also ponder the length of time they sat with Job before they spoke, seven days and seven nights. Seven, in Hebrew, is from the root savah, meaning “to be full or satisfied, have enough of”. It is the number of perfection and completion. If they would have been content in their silence at the end of those seven days, their mission would have been completed.

“oh”. Why did I feel the need to talk? I had personally witnessed the change that had occurred in the boy these last few days spent with Deion. The child, who at first, gingerly approached this large, intimidating dog; who flinched away each time Deion made a motion, was now stroking Deion’s neck, brushing his back, teaching him a trick to show his mom and dad on Parent’s Day. He had developed complete trust and his fear had subsided, not by me telling him how great Deion was or by my reassurance of Deion’s gentleness but by Deion just being Deion. No words, just gentle acts of obedience to the boy’s commands and a tenderness to the boy’s touch.

I also watched this boy, with his life consumed by cancer, forget for just a while his worries at home and experience joy and pride in “his” dog, Deion as Deion leaped through rings and effortlessly shot through the tunnels of Rescue Village’s tiny agility course.

Our words so often get in the way of our intentions. I don’t believe Job’s friends intended to make him feel worse. They loved him, they had “made an appointment to show him sympathy and comfort him.” (Job 2:11) But we put such importance on our words. Not that words can’t be a comfort, they can. But knowing when their use is appropriate is tough. At least it is for me. Dogs never have that issue. When we hurt, they curl up around us, they lay their head on our laps, they look up at us with those eyes that seem to say, “it’s okay, you can cry.” And we do. Their closeness and the warmth of those eyes comfort us. They make us feel loved, accepted, and understood. They’ve never said a word. They come, created by God, to comfort silently. And therein lies their wisdom.

The Journey Home

When I was a child, I loved Thursdays because that was the day in school when our class got to go to the library. When I scanned the shelves for a book, my criteria was a bit different from most kids. My book had to center around a dog, or dogs, the more the better. Old Yeller, Clifford The Big Red Dog, The Call Of The Wild were all childhood favorites. It was about the age of 11 when I first discovered The Incredible Journey by Sheila Burnford. I didn’t let the cat on the cover dissuade me, there were also two dogs on the front so the cat to dog ratio met my book selection criteria. I poured over every page, I swam across the muddy river, I winced as porcupine needles were tediously pulled from Luath’s infected jaw, and how can one hold back the tears as the animals lovingly bound into the arm’s of the family for whom they had endured so much to finally return? I thought such journey’s were only found in books until I recently read the story of Mason. This one was true and it really made me think about what it means to return “home”.

Mason is a scruffy, Benji-looking dog from North Smithfield, Alabama who found himself cowering in the corner of his families garage while tornado sirens wailed in the distance. As hail rained down and winds whipped this small southern town, the family frantically called to their dear friend but fear would not allow Mason to budge. Desperate to find cover as the tornado approached, they had to abandon their search and find safety for themselves. In a matter of minutes, nature’s fury subsided and the stunned family slowly emerged from their safe spot to find their home destroyed, their town lying in rubble and the garage that, unbeknownst to them, was the chosen refuge for Mason, totally wiped away. Once more, they called out for their dog hoping for that Incredible Journey ending; the sight of Mason leaping from among the rubble into their arms. But Mason, like the garage he once clung to, was gone.

For weeks, the family returned to their home, picking through remnants of their life, hoping to find a photograph or a treasured family heirloom or perhaps even Mason, miraculously clinging to life under a piece of furniture but the miracle was still too come. Three weeks after the devastation, the family returned to once again salvage what they could from their home when there, on the porch, was a bedraggled, dirty, weary scrap of a dog they called Mason. It was apparent that Mason had indeed returned from an incredible journey but amongst the joy and tears they realized that Mason had made that journey on two horribly mangled front legs. No one knows how long the journey was or what that journey entailed; no one knows the pain that Mason experienced, the hunger and the desperate longing for the people he most loved. What mattered was that Mason made it; he was home and there was incredible joy.

Where is our home? Is it the four walls with the 42” HD TV and leather sectional? The brick colonial with the two-car garage? Or is our home one that we’re still making our way towards? Our home here on earth is, at times, quite comfortable but other times we are faced with devastation and destruction. They whip up at a moments notice; a midnight phone call, an x-ray just back from the lab and suddenly, our home is turned upside down. Just when we think we will never recover, we again find some semblance of normalcy, the joy returns and we hunker down for the next big storm. It’s called life. And while it’s difficult at times, we always seem to pull ourselves up by our two good legs and move ourselves along. But the Bible reminds us that this is not all there is, “...just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life.” (Rom. 6:4) Our true home is yet to come and it promises not to have the storms we experience while living in our three bedroom bungalow, “There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” (Rev. 21:4) Sounds like a good place to lay down roots. I’m sure, at times in his journey, Mason felt lost and alone but he knew there was a place waiting for him filled with the people he loved and plenty of comfort and security. That vision of home is what kept him moving forward. The happiness and joy that greeted him when he finally made it through the rubble gave him strength as if all of the pain had never happened. The destination made the journey worth every step. And an incredible one it was.

The Humility of Mud

I have a love/hate relationship with this time of year. I know, after all the snow, sleet, freezing rain and cold temps we’ve had lo’ these long winter months, I should embrace the occasional fifty degree day and I do, to an extent. My dog, Deion and I are enjoying the longer walks, I love the smell of spring in the air, my heart leaps at the first sign of daffodil greens poking out from the brown, winter worn earth.

Oh, the earth. This is where me and spring part ways. The earth in my yard, for the most part, is a muddy mess. Dog toys not seen since last November, suddenly crawl out of their winter hibernation beneath the snow and lie amongst the dead branches and water-soaked dog “treasures”. It’s not a pretty picture.

My dogs, God bless them, look at springs arrival a little differently.

Baci, my boxer mix, runs out the doors with wild abandon like the proverbial kid in a candy store. She darts from one muddy, disgusting toy to the next as if greeting old friends. She happily tosses the dried branches into the air and drags them about the yard. Deion wears a track next to the woodpile sniffing out the newly emerged critters. Non of this I would mind very much, in fact, I would delight in it if it wasn’t for the mud that I see flying around as they do it. The mud that, in a very short period of time, I will be desperately trying to get off of them before they get into the house. The mud that, however hard I might scrub, I know I will be mopping from the floor....again.

But yesterday, as I was straining once more with a towel in one hand and a mud soaked paw in the other, I thought about the extreme patience they had with me as I grabbed clumsily at each paw. It’s a fact that dogs do not like their paws touched. To a dog, grabbing their paw is quite rude actually. Just try grabbing a strange dogs leg....wait, no, if you value your fingers, don’t do it. Take my word for it. They don’t like it. So, for my two dogs to let me hold their paw long enough for me to get into every nook and cranny with a towel, takes extreme amounts of love and trust. I can tell they aren’t having fun and the feeling is mutual but its an agreement we come to with our dogs. You can live in my nice warm house, have plenty of good food and fresh water, toys, warm hugs, daily walks, but you need to be mud-free.

Then, I began to think about the humility of this whole experience and I began to consider the humble act of Jesus as he bent down to wash the feet of his disciples. How God’s son humbled himself and became a servant, saying to his disciples, “You call me Teacher and Lord, and you are right, for so I am. If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet.” (John 13: 13,14) Now granted, me washing my dog’s paws is not to teach them about humility and servitude; it’s about the preservation of my carpeting, but it is a humbling experience. We humans are often stronger, we can think logically and create cities of steel, we are masters of our domain yet we pick up our dogs doo, wash their feet, bathe them because, yes, we are clean by nature but also, we love them and so we care for them as Jesus did his disciples. Dogs humble us. I can’t help but think as they fly around the yard, enjoying these first warm days of spring, that maybe they have the right idea. Maybe I should be out there, running through the brown grass and kicking up mud. But then, who would wash my feet?

Chasing The Chipmunk

“Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool. If you are willing and obedient, you will eat the best from the land; but if you resist and rebel, you will be devoured by the sword.” (Isaiah 1:18-20)

Charlie bounded down the trail like all good goofballs do. Mouth hanging open, tongue loose and free, eyes wide and focused straight ahead with no regard to his owner desperately trying to keep up. It was a crisp fall day and the trail at West Woods was deserted so it was a great opportunity to give Charlie some much needed off-leash time. He ran with abandon stopping only to take in the scent of some long since gone field mouse. Patty enjoyed watching Charlie explore his surroundings, unfettered by his 6 ft. leather leash. She imagined that in Charlie’s eyes, the woods was absolute nirvana. It was his chance to be dog in the true animal sense and not in the “off the couch, lay on your bed, drink from a bowl” family pet sense. At the moment, Charlie was an animal among kindred spirits.

Patty tried to stay close behind, always keeping Charlie in her field of vision. Charlie had a tendency to go off on a rabbit trail but would always double back at the sound of Patty’s voice. Charlie was granted this freedom because he always returned to Patty when she called. This was precisely the reason that it came as a shock to Patty when Charlie slipped out of her sight and did not respond to her voice. The calls were calm and assured at first and then began to take on the sound of desperation. She could hear Charlie barking in the distance but it was clear that Charlie could not hear her. Or did he care to. She tried to follow the direction of the barks but their echoes bounced off trees and she was afraid of straying too far off the path. She ran back down the trail hoping to find Charlie waiting by the car as she yelled, “Charlie! Go for a ride?!!” That was Patty’s emergency call that never failed to turn Charlie away from the closest squirrel and straight toward the hatchback of her SUV. She stood next to her car, her eyes darting desperately in every direction for her wayward friend.

It was evident that Charlie was no longer anywhere near the trail they had been on so she jumped in her vehicle and drove around the park; her eyes scanning the fields and trails for that unmistakable coat of gold. After an hour had passed, she pulled down one of roads that led to a second series of trails. As she turned a corner, she saw a woman crouched down with a walking stick in one hand and Charlie’s ID tag in the other. She struggled to read it between Charlie’s well-intentioned kisses. Patty immediately pulled to the side. Charlie recognized Patty the minute she stepped from the car, he knew her walk, the scent of her leather boots, and her unmistakable low alto voice. He leapt and danced as Patty approached. She was shocked at how a dog could get so covered in burrs, mud, and horse manure in such a short period of time. The mud and manure came off quite easily but Patty spent hours painstakingly picking out burrs imbedded in all the nooks and crannies of Charlie’s previously spotless, gloriously maned, frame.

Who can blame Charlie? He was only doing what his creator made him to do. Hunt and track and seek out wild game. When temptation came scurrying across the woodland floor disguised as a chipmunk, Charlie bolted. He wasn’t reasoning out the repercussions of straying from his “master”. He wasn’t thinking about the meals she’s provided that he’s never had to retrieve, the warm bed that’s always there waiting for him, her unfailing friendship. No. His mind was set on getting that one thing that he couldn’t have. Sound familiar?

Even with our superior reasoning capabilities, we often find ourselves falling into temptation’s trap. We dart off after the chipmunks of the world. The wants, the shiny things, the “big and better”. We forget Paul’s precious words in Philippians 4:12, “I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.” Whatever situation in life we find ourselves, the devil slithers in and convinces us that we deserve more. Charlie’s act of defiance was driven by instinct but is that so different from how we were made? Weren’t we all born sinners? “For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God....” (Rom. 3: 23) Even Adam and Eve were tempted in the forest and strayed. God knows the temptations we face, he lets us off leash to experience all the wonders and joy His creation has to offer. But we so often want more and in His love for us, He lets us go. So we bound off down the trail, our eyes straight ahead, never looking back to heed our Father’s voice. Once obtained, we find once again, what we thought we wanted and needed leaves us empty and unfulfilled. In His mercy and grace, He rescues us. He is faithful. “No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it.” (1 Cor. 10:13) We can never travel so deep into the woods of sin that God cannot give us a way out. Like Patty, he’s seeking us, calling us, following closely behind and is willing, through his love and grace, to painstakingly pick out each burr and tangle that we’ve picked up along the way. When we stop chasing the temptation and return to Him, he will wash us clean, make us new, and shower us with all the blessings we need. No matter where sin and temptation has taken us, our master is always ready to bring us home. “Even if you have been banished to the most distant land under the heavens, from there the Lord your God will gather you and bring you back.” (Deut. 30:4)

“But the LORD said to Samuel, "Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him. For the LORD sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the LORD looks on the heart." (1Sam. 16:7)

He was intimidating. His 75 lb. sturdy frame stood poised at the front of the kennel. He was the epitome of strength and power and his very presence was unwelcome and banned from countless cities and counties across the country. His jaws, capable of crushing a man’s arm, hung open in a wide-mouth pant. He was a Pit Bull recently rescued from a dog fighting ring and his new name was Happy. I’m not sure what Happy’s fighting background was but I determined from his soft brown eyes and calm demeanor that fortunately for him, he probably wasn’t very good at it. Happy had successfully passed all of his temperament tests at the animal shelter with flying colors. The shelter staff could scratch his ears, poke their fingers into his mouth, wrap their arms around him and the only danger they faced was a face full of dog saliva. They could even bend down and join him in devouring a bowl of kibble if they were so inclined. He was a joy to be around and in time, became the favorite of all the volunteer dog walkers at the rescue center.

The public, however, saw the gaping jaw and squared head and hurried past Happy’s kennel. They warned their children not to stand too close to his cage, not to look at him and definitely, do not try to give him a treat from the small metal bowl filled with dog biscuits that was attached to the outside of his kennel. Happy barked and whined as he watched all the other dogs happily devouring biscuits offered from tiny, sticky fingers up and down the aisle. Staff and volunteers at the shelter began to worry about Happy. Some dogs that spend weeks and weeks at a shelter begin to spiral downhill psychologically so a decision was made to put Happy to work by including him in the shelter’s public obedience classes. Happy thoroughly enjoyed his once a week furlough. He learned to sit, come, heel, and walk calmly on a leash. He was a quick learner and attentive student as Pit Bulls tend to be, and he quickly moved through class, eventually even passing the Canine Good Citizen test. Despite the large plaque displaying his Canine Good Citizen diploma and the glowing remarks concerning Happy’s friendly and obedient nature from multiple staff and volunteers, the public continued to pass Happy by.

Happy watched as dog after dog left the shelter. People fell in love with the beagles and lab mixes and other seemingly “friendlier” breeds. These dogs got to go home to a bed, their own food bowl and warm lap every night. Happy however, was continually avoided because man, and woman, continued to, “...look on his appearance...” and “...the height of his stature”.

When we choose a friend, a mate, or a leader, we often look at the outward appearance. Who has God chosen to be his messengers? Who did God choose to lead and orchestrate his good and perfect will among men? David was the youngest boy, barely grown, in a family of strong, capable men. Moses was old, feeble, and by his own admission was "...not eloquent...slow of speech and of tongue". Mary was a 14 year-old peasant girl from a humble home. Is it so difficult then, for us to believe that a hero, a leader, or an earthly comforter could perhaps come in the form of a four-legged fur ball? Inside the heart of your neighbors toy poodle could lie the strength of a lion. Or in your German Shepherd, the warmth and compassion of Mother Theresa. God chooses the unremarkable. He elects the ordinary to do the extraordinary.

What we see isn’t always the truth. Eyes lie. We are often taken aback by the cruel actions of someone who “looked so nice”. We’re enamored and awed by athletes whose moral character shocks and disappoints us. We gravitate to the strong, thin, handsome or beautiful...someone who looks more capable than ourselves. Thankfully, God chooses us based on the condition of our hearts. God knew the tender, gentle heart that Happy possessed. After all, He created it. Dogs seem to get this. It’s the reason the smallest Pomeranian will playfully romp and nip at the largest Great Dane. Dogs are not constrained by the limitations of sight and perception but possess an amazing capacity for innate understanding and acceptance not for the way things appear but the way things are. They live out Isaiah 11:3 which states, “...and he will delight in the fear of the LORD. He will not judge by what he sees with his eyes, or decide by what he hears with his ears;”

Happy was fortunate to be surrounded by dog lovers who could look past Happy’s external image and see the loving, strong, capable dog that God had created Happy to be. Happy did find his forever home with a loving family who was willing to give Happy a chance. What Happy gives in return is a grateful heart and a wide gaping jaw full of sloppy, wet kisses.

Fear or Faith?

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on you own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight.” (Poverbs 3:5)

I had seen dogs who were fearful. Dogs that hid in their kennels at the sound of thunder or ran in terror at the drop of a plate. So when the Martin’s called me about their fearful German Shepherd mix, Dief, I was pretty sure I knew what I was getting myself into.

I asked that the Martin’s meet me outside for our first meeting with Dief on lead. When I arrived at their home, I glanced at Dief and already I could tell that Dief sensed something was up. Dief’s crooked ears were alert but he was strained as far back from my car as he could possibly get. Julie tried to coax Dief forward with her loving, gentle pleas but Dief held back, looking for a way out, straining back against the leash. I hadn’t even gotten out of the car.

My hours of reading and research on fearful dogs had taught me the safest way to approach a fearful dog so I stepped from the car gently with a bag of warmed bits of hot dog strapped to my hip. I turned to the side so as not to face him directly on, which dogs see as a threat or challenge, and I edged a bit closer. Dief nervously paced back and forth as far back from Julie as the leash would allow. He tried to free himself from his collar and turned in circles trying to escape. To Dief, my approach meant imminent death and destruction and there was no where for him to hide, no one who he could trust to save him. When the Martin’s disclosed Dief’s tragic start in life, the behavior began to make sense.

Julie and Mark had recently adopted Dief from a rescue group where he spent the last few weeks recuperating after being dumped in a ditch with the rest of his litter mates. He hadn’t seen much of the world and from what he had seen, he determined it was a scary place to be. The Martin’s had done a wonderful job at taking things slowly with Dief. He had adapted to their home and had gained some semblance of normalcy in his new life. But with strangers--and that was anyone besides Julie and Mark-- Dief was terrified.

When I began to see Dief’s desperate attempts to flee from my approach, I stopped where I was and began to toss the warm hot dog to Dief. To most dogs, it’s manna from heaven but Dief did not take the bait. Would you step toward an axe murderer who was offering you filet mignon? That’s how Dief interpreted the situation. In reality, I was offering freely what most dogs would have to work for in order to earn. I tossed it in the air and all he had to do was move forward a quarter of an inch and he would experience doggy bliss in a pressed meat form. He didn’t budge.

Dief had a comfort zone. A place where the world was safe. Where he wasn’t vulnerable. If he stayed back far enough,perhaps the next county, he wouldn’t get hurt. What he didn’t take into account was that he also would not get a warm bit of hot dog, a gentle, reassuring scratch behind the ear or the pleasure of the perfect belly rub.

Humans have a comfort zone as well. Staying back in our comfort zone may make life seem safe but it certainly doesn’t enrich it. How often do we wrap ourselves in our fears and deny ourselves the blessings God has waiting for us if we would only take that quarter of an inch step forward. If we would only budge.

Jesus came so “that they may have life, and have it to the full.” (John 10:10) But that means stepping forward in faith. It means putting ourselves out there and risking rejection and hurt. Maybe we’ve had a rough start in life. Perhaps, like Dief, we were rejected, tossed aside. We were hurt by people who were supposed to care for us so we find it safer to just stay back away from anyone who could hurt us again. God knows what happens to us and he doesn’t ask us to forget those horrible circumstances but to step forward in faith, and take hold of the new life that he is offering us.

Sometimes that new life begins with the guy in the next cubicle over. Or the elderly woman who just stopped to pet your dog. God places people in our lives with hot dogs strapped to their waist. They possess blessings just waiting to be tossed to us freely if only we’d step forward.

By the end of six weeks, Dief was making great strides; coming up to me and taking the bits of chicken or steak I had diced up from last nights meal. He was slowly getting out more and experiencing trail hikes and car rides and beginning to warm up to family members who visited his home. Through training, he was growing closer to Julie and Mark. He was beginning to trust in them and live in freedom from fear. Seek God, grow closer to Him, and embrace the blessings just waiting to be tossed.