I Hate My Dog
Before you call the ASPCA, please allow me to explain.
Before Luca came into my life, for the first time since my eldest child was born, I enjoyed a respite from responsibility. My husband, not enjoying a quiet home free from the normal chaos of rearing adolescents, determined HE needed a pet.
Let us be clear, dear reader, that I fully intended that HE would be taking care of this poor animal. However, as things often transpire, creatures choose the Alpha of the house, and Mama has always been the boss.
Ever since our last precious pet, Ginny, passed in our youngest child’s second year of college, I have traveled and slept and self-cared without consideration of another life force’s daily critical care. This unfamiliar territory did not come easily for me and the adjustment took time. However, once acclimated, I selfishly never wanted to return to the land of the needy. I was ill prepared for the demands of a new puppy.
Luca is a good pup, but I am not used to boys. They are extremely indiscriminate with their bathroom habits and their eating appetites too. I find myself yelling and scolding and swatting and punishing and resenting and denying affection and my fundamental joyful nature altering toward the old lady curmudgeon I swore I would never become. What does the statement, “I hate my dog,” say about my personality? How can I actually harbor resentment toward this precious face?
The more I punish and the more I yell the more anxious this dog gets. He runs to the corner and hides. He accidentally tinkles on the floor. He rolls over and shows me his belly and shivers. What kind of person am I becoming, and what kind of creature am I creating?
As I glare at my husband during his blissful, oblivious sleep - immune to the pitiful middle of the night whimpers, I ask God for help because one of them is going to have to go. As I traipse around the wet grass and swat yet another probable West Nile or Encephalitis infected mosquito, I feel completely and totally helpless in my current emotional state. Then Luca looks up at me and offers the sweetest little puppy kisses, and Jesus whispers, “You are his god!”
It’s 4:30 in the morning and if anyone rewound the security camera footage, they would see a very broken middle-aged woman, weeping and cradling a very sweet and cuddly puppy, apologizing for being an extremely pathetic excuse for a god.
As I move forward in Luca’s care, I begin to ask myself how many times I have acted just like him? How many times have I made a mess in my own house? How many times have I chewed up something that was not mine to chew? How many times have I deserved to be swatted and scolded and thrown out of the house for my behavior? How many times have I failed to accept corrections? How many times did I ignore when my name was called? And what has my God’s response always been? The precious blood of Jesus…
In the Bible, the word dog often refers to an unholy or castaway person. Matthew 15 tells the story of a Canaanite woman asking for Jesus to heal her daughter from demon possession. “Lord, help me!” she cried. “It is not right to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs.” Jesus replied. Her faith does not waiver even under Jesus’ response. “Yes, Lord,” she said, “even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.” Jesus then answered, “Woman, your faith is great. Let it be done for you as you want.” And from that moment her daughter was healed. Matthew 15: 25-28 (CSB)
This story seems strange lifted from the context of the rest of Matthew 15. All of this section of narrative explains how Jesus meets our needs no matter where He finds us and shatters the cultural customs of His day by first talking to a Canaanite woman and then answering her request. Jesus is not an impatient or fickle or irrational god who loses his temper when a follower makes a demanding request that inconveniences him. He never tires of the responsibility of hearing our pleas and meeting our needs. In fact, He loved us so much, He died a horrible death on a cross so we could come into a relationship with Him and possess a loving guide who doesn’t place us on a choke chain in order to bend us to His will. And He left us the Bible as an instruction manual - His how to guide to better living. Living for Dummies. He is a good God.
So why is anxiety increasing exponentially in our culture? The answer hit me when my sweet pup showed me his belly as I yelled when all he had been doing was happily digging in the mud - just being a dog.
Who is your god?
I am a terrible god and my resentment toward this dog is ruining his little life. I need to turn my focus back to the True Creator of the universe and center my heart where it belongs. My only responsibility is to love the Lord my God with all my heart, soul, mind and strength and my neighbor as myself. This little pup is a gift, and I thank Him for creating such a wonderful companion in my middle years.
As anxiety sores in this country, anything other than God ruling over a life punishes when a mess is made, swats and scolds for bad behavior, doesn’t offer correction but leads astray, or ignores the pain altogether and withholds affection. Who is the only one willing to take on the burden and lovingly train the dog? Jesus!
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