Good-bye, Old Friend

It’s amazing the way pets weave themselves into our hearts. One day a fuzzy little ball of fur with a hyperactive tail enters our lives and next thing you know, it’s declared itself part of the family. Molly was that way. She joined our family about 17 years ago, a part-Chihuahua, part-terrier puppy, a wagging, bouncing bundle of life.

Alas, 17 in dog years is nearly forever, and a few weeks ago we knew Molly’s tenure on earth was coming to an end. Over the past year she had lost what the French call “joie de vivre,” the hearty and carefree enjoyment of life most dogs manifest. The house-training lessons she had learned so well were often forgotten. Her almost non-stop sleeping was interrupted only by brief trips outside, quick munches on a biscuit or wet food wrapped around medication, or occasionally wandering around the house, as if trying to remember something she had forgotten. And going up and downstairs had become difficult with balky hind legs.

So rather than waiting to see her in obvious distress, and after consulting with our veterinarian and some online research, we regretfully concluded, “It’s time.” With sedation preceding the euthanizing drug, Molly’s passing was peaceful – and tearful for us. Mostly mine, since I’m the one whose eyes water during romantic comedies. Even knowing it was the proper, humane thing to do, saying good-bye to a beloved old friend is never easy.

In the biblical creation account, God declared, “It’s not good for that man should be alone” (Genesis 2:18), so He created animals to become Adam’s companions (before deciding Eve was a better solution). It doesn’t say God introduced canines into the biological mix at that point, but I suspect He did, in part because some of the positive traits we see in dogs reflect the Lord’s attributes – and qualities He desires to see in us.

Things like faithfulness. Trust. Patience. Devotion. Steadfastness. Unconditional love. Recently I read a suggestion that if you want to see whether your spouse or your dog loves you more, put them both in the trunk of your car and close it. Then see how each responds when you reopen the trunk 15 minutes later.

We could leave Molly alone in the house for hours at a time, and when we returned home she was there with tail going 60 miles an hour, bouncing up and down, ready to go out and then come back in to play – or chomp on a biscuit. I don’t recall her once asking, “I wonder if these guys are going to feed me today?” or “What’s taking them so long?” Her faith and trust in us, deserved or not, was absolute. If only our confidence in God were so complete.

As with anything else we experience in life, Molly wasn’t all fun without any frustration. I won’t miss recent months of getting out of bed around 3 every morning to take her out before she went on the floor. For a short-haired dog, Molly managed to shed lots of hair year-round. She could turn any T-shirt into a dog-hair sweater in seconds. And to be honest, it will be a relief planning to travel without needing to ask, “What are we going to do with the dog?” But like all good pooches, Molly’s plusses far outnumbered her minuses.

After our vet had put Molly to sleep, I was reading in Proverbs and came across a familiar verse: “Where no oxen are, the trough is clean; but much increase comes by the strength of the ox” (Proverbs 14:4). In other words, to get the results you want, you must be willing to put up with some messes. That passage could be adapted for canines: Where no dogs are, the house is clean; but much joy comes from the wag of a dog’s tail.

Today the doggie hairs Molly had strewn so lavishly around the house have been swept up. Her food and water bowls have been stored away, maybe for future use. But not soon. And the tennis balls she enjoyed playing with now lie still, no longer her toys of pursuit. But Molly’s memory will remain wrapped around our hearts forever.

James 1:17 states, “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.” For us, Molly was one of those good and perfect gifts from above, perhaps God’s way of saying, “Enjoy this loving little friend. And learn some things about Me in the process.” And for that we’re extremely grateful.

Good-bye, Molly. We love you. Hope to see you again one day, the Lord willing.

Dog-gone Canines!

A friend of mine recently wrote a loving tribute after his family’s dog died. I can relate to their loss. Been there, done that. Several times.

Canines somehow manage to work their way into your heart with a wag of a tail – and then stay there. They arrive with trusting eyes, wagging so hard their whole body shakes, ready to lick your hand or face whenever you’re near. You can leave them and when you return, they’re patiently waiting. No recrimination, no pouting, just a look that says, “Hey, you’re home! Hooray!”

When mankind decided to domesticate dogs, it was one of the best ideas ever. For many people, they do become man’s best friend – you can ignore them, neglect them, even forget to feed them, and they’re still there for you. They’ll fetch a ball or stick, delight in a dog biscuit, and lie down just about anywhere you let them. When you call them, they scamper to your feet.

I’ve never fancied cats. They seem so…disinterested. But dogs are a different animal – literally and figuratively. If you ever want to see a good example of unconditional love, get a dog. Feed it a couple of times, give it a treat, pat its head or rub its tummy, and you’ve got a buddy for life.

In my lifetime I’ve had six dogs. My first real experience was Markham, a Toy Manchester Terrier we got “pre-owned.” A previous owner had abused him. When we first saw him, his tail was between his legs, his ears were folded down, and he flinched whenever you reached out to him.

But he got over the mistreatment he’d received and proved to be a great dog with a wonderful temperament. While I was single, a couple of my dates referred to him as “a rat,” because he was small and mostly black. That was the last Markham and I would see of them. “Love me, love my dog” was my motto.

He lived to be nearly 15 years old and set the stage for my becoming a lifelong dog lover.

Now we have a Chihuahua-terrier mix named Molly. She’s 14 and doesn’t hear anything but loud noises, so if you want her to scamper to you, you have to make a commotion. But she’s the latest – and perhaps last – in a line of good dogs. I’m now at the age myself where another dog could outlive me, so Molly might not have a successor.

On a deeper level, I think when God created dogs He had a very special purpose for them. Yes, some actually have work to do, like herding sheep or cattle, leading the blind, sniffing out crime, or catching varmints. But as I mentioned, they also demonstrate love without conditions, independent of the owner’s performance. They accept you, warts and all.

This is also one of the great distinctions between what the Bible reveals about God and perspectives other spiritual disciplines offer: Only in the Scriptures do we see love offered, unconditionally and undeservedly, by the Lord of the universe.

In the original Greek of the New Testament, the word that expresses this is “agape.” Not a warm, fuzzy kind of love at all, but a sacrificial, selfless love. The kind we rarely see in everyday life.

But more than 2,000 years ago it was on public display on a cross atop a hill of disgrace. Romans 5:8 states, “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Chronologically speaking, Jesus paid the price for our sins long before each of us even thought of committing the first one.

That’s why in a few weeks we will observe "Christ-mas." Because without the incredible, unconditional love freely poured out on the Cross, there would be no reason for Christmas.