For the Love of Dog

Jane: Our dogs Daisy and Boomer have been driving me nuts lately -- especially Daisy, our 20-month-old yellow Labrador retriever. Because it's been so hot and buggy outside, I've avoided the dog park where Boomer and Daisy run off excess energy. Without that outing, they get a little restless . . . and mischievous. Yesterday I watched as Daisy -- my white tornado -- cut a swath of destruction
in our backyard, digging a new dirt hole by our fence, chewing up a patio chair cushion and an umbrella cover, chomping on stray sticks and mulch, chasing flies, trampling ornamental grasses, and devouring a huge, green, juicy catepillar.

Betsey: Bon appétit! When I think of your dogs, words like “bumptious” and “galumphing” come to mind -- big, spirited creatures who get all over everything and just love you to pieces. I still remember Daisy knocking a glass off the table with her wagging tail! Dogs just mean so well . . .

Jane: It's funny you mention this, because recently Daisy knocked over a tall glass of Diet Coke, spilling its contents all over our leather sofa and hardwood floor. Yet in the frenzy of wiping up the mess on the floor and the couch and the coffee table, she melted me with those brown eyes . . .

My irritation with these guys never lasts long because I know how short a dog's life truly is. We've lost two dogs to old age and sickness: Bo, our first dog ever, and Buddy, our previous Labrador retriever.

I'll never forget how painful those losses were . . . straight out of Marley & Me.

When Bo died on our kitchen floor, I was so grief-stricken my heart went wacky and I had to wear a Holter monitor for 48 hours!

I revisited that grief a few weeks ago when I learned dear friends in Jacksonville lost their yellow Lab, Shey, to a quick-spreading cancer. Then when we returned from our vacation, we discovered neighbors had to put down their sweet Brittany spaniel, Abby. These people are dog people like we are, so I know their hearts are breaking. Shey and Abby were splendid dogs. Beloved dogs. Just as Daisy and Boomer are.

What is it about these wonderful creatures that wraps itself so tightly around our hearts?

Betsey: Oh, Jane. That’s so sad about Bo and Buddy and Abby and Shey -- but, as you say, dogs’ lives are brief compared to ours, and that is the sharp poignancy embedded in the matchless joy we know with our best friends.

As you know, our little Cairn terrier Lucy is fourteen years young and losing her is something that haunts me. The other day she was sleeping on our bed and was just so quiet and

I looked at her and said aloud, “I have LOVED spending life with you.”

Of course, not long after she got up and started barking at the vacuum cleaner -- so, Lord willing, she will be with us for a good long time yet. In the meantime we’re contemplating taking her on a cross-country vacation. Road trip!

Jane: Oh, Lucy Lou! I love little Lucy -- she's so spunky.

Betsey: No kidding. Amanda and her dog Gracie, who’s black and white and looks like a stuffed toy, stopped by recently. Not, mind you, in the house. I walked Gracie (who was wearing a new pink outfit!) around our front yard a bit and all of a sudden I heard ferocious barking from indoors. Lucy was on HER chair, looking out the front window and sternly ordering, “Get off my lawn!” The funny thing is, she was so energized the rest of the evening, like her Scots blood was stirred by combat. We call her “Little Braveheart.”

Jane: What a hoot! We have all kinds of pet names for our pets, too. Daisy is “Baby” or “Doodle” or “Dickens” (because she can be a dickens). And sometimes -- I'm embarrassed to admit -- we've even called her our daughter Emily's name by mistake. (Emily insists that's only when Daisy's naughty. I take the Fifth). Our older boy Boomer is “Boom-Boom” or “Booms.” And Rich, of course, is “Mr. Rich,” and the dogs respond with such excitement when I tell them “Mr. Rich is home!”

Betsey: Yesterday Fritz called Lucy “Stuart.” Sometimes I call Amanda “Lucy.” Lucy is also “Lucy-Goosey.” We’ve also experimented with seeing if she answers to “Duke” or “Poopsie,” because of the similar sound. Of course she isn’t fooled, because Lucy is uncommonly gifted. I sometimes imagine, when she’s staring at me with those big, soulful eyes, that all of a sudden she’ll say something.

Jane: Isn't it cool when you see your children inherit your passion for animals? I know if circumstances permitted it, Sarah and Emily would own dogs, too. But because Sarah and her husband, Mike, are missionaries who travel overseas, right now it doesn't make sense. And Em's landlord doesn't allow dogs (so she got a cat instead!).

Betsey: It would be awful if your kid didn’t love animals. Truly, I would have a problem with that. Thankfully Amanda absolutely loves animals, dogs especially. She dreams of having a whole herd of them on a big rural property. Stuart, too, is a dog person -- fortunately for him, because what he didn’t know is that

loving dogs is one of our hidden family tests to be let into the “circle of trust,” to quote Meet the Parents.

Jane: Ha! I love it! You know, Em once dated a really nice guy who was allergic to dogs. Whenever he was going to visit, I'd furiously attempt to eliminate all traces of the "fur situation" -- no easy task! They're no longer dating . . . and as much as I liked him, I always wondered how a non-dog son-in-law would fit in.

The truth is, dogs are messy, mischievous, and expensive. They tie you down. They interrupt your sleep. They get gassy when guests are over. And let's face it, poop happens! Pee and vomit, too. In fact, last night Rich and I were awakened to the unmistakable sounds of Boomer gagging. A mad dash ensued to get him downstairs and out the back door so he'd barf on grass instead of carpet. We lost that race, by the way. And then there's what I call The Muddy Season -- spring. Muddy footprints don't even begin to describe its horrors!

Yet I feel such a powerful, protective love for these canine best friends. They're not our kids, but they're definitely our family. And I hope -- silly as it may sound to some -- that one day in heaven Rich and I will see Bo and Buddy and Boomer and Daisy eagerly awaiting us with tails wagging, expecting belly rubs, cuddles, and a game or two of Fetch-it. How could it be heaven without them?

I wonder if the depth of feeling we experience for our dogs is an echo of Eden . . .

an inkling of how that stewarding relationship between mankind and animals was meant to be.

Life without a dog or two beside me on the journey? No thanks. I'll take the poop, the pee, the vomit, the incessant shedding, and the less-than-perfect house in exchange for their unconditional love and companionship, for antics that make me laugh and affection that melts my heart.

Oops -- looks like they're putting me to the test . . . Daisy's chewing on an area rug, and Boomer has to be let out. Gotta run!

If you had -- or have -- a dog you love, share your dog story with us!

Tiny Terrors

Betsey: Last Sunday after church and -- I admit it -- blueberry pancakes, we took our dog for a long (for her) walk. The air was cool and damp, the trees were tossing in the wind. It felt bracing and energizing, like that proverbial hint of fall and a wonderful change from what we’ve been enduring, a grim plod of muggy 90-degree days with screaming cicadas and flotillas of devouring mosquitoes that basically ruin summer. Last night we were at Amanda and Stu’s and tried to eat out on their deck and were chased indoors, and so the terrorists have won. As I mentioned to you, I think I have mosquito allergies so I’m covered with welts and scabs where I’ve scratched. Delightful.

Then at night, when the AC is on, our bedroom gets really stuffy and I toss and turn and itch and kick off covers and even the dog says, “Forget this!” and escapes downstairs. So we try to turn off the air from time to time to bring that good fresh air in -- but it’s just been so warm. And I think it’s affecting my mood and outlook more than I realize.

"I'm covered with welts and scabs where I've scratched. Delightful."

I once had a musician friend who said she thought creative people actually preferred “bad” weather. I think there’s something to that. Maybe not bad weather per se, but I realize when it gets cold, I get happy. What about you? Do you find yourself being affected by the weather?

Jane: First of all, I know what you mean about the mosquitoes. We took our two dogs to the off-leash dog park Saturday morning, and although I was slathered in Skin-So-Soft, we ended up trudging through these vast swarms of skeeters, slapping ourselves silly in a futile attempt to keep them from feasting on every known body part! You can tell it's really bad when Rich, who usually isn't bothered by mosquitoes (I can't figure this out, because they just love me) cries uncle. We finally turned tail and left in defeat. Days later I'm still discovering angry welts from that trek . . . on my butt, the backs of my arms, my thighs. All the juicy spots!

Now to answer your question, yes, I'm affected by the weather -- or more accurately, by the sunshine. Every long gray winter, I struggle with S.A.D. (seasonal affective disorder) and I'm always tempted to buy one of those “happy lights” they sell at Costco.

But I can't say I prefer bad weather; I prefer variety. Too many bright days in a row, and I yearn for the moodiness of a cloudy, rainy day (nothing like the rhythm of rain to read by). Too many dreary days in a row, and I just about go batty craving some sun.

"Days later I'm still discovering angry welts from that trek . . . on all the juicy spots!"

Oh, and I can do without high humidity. It turns me into a sweaty, crabby mess.

Betsey: You’re right about variety. I think that’s more it than “bad” weather. And I’m glad I’m not the only one who gets bitten on, well, “shaded” spots. And I still remember an old cartoon that ran in one of the first issues of Partnership magazine, the former CTI publication for ministry wives. It showed a couple watching as their kid fled marauding mosquitoes, and the dad said, “Uh-oh. Get ready for the question, ‘Why did God invent mosquitoes?’"

Jane: I asked that question myself when we were at the dog park -- loudly, and often.

Betsey: So not to “theologize” everything, but is there such a thing as “bad” creation? Philip Yancey wrote something on this years ago. As I recall, he was talking about the dangerous giardia parasite lurking in the waters of crystalline Colorado streams and he explored the idea of “fallen creation” -- things in nature that destroy and hurt and have no visible benefit. I wonder if this summer’s tiny terrorists would fall into that category. I know they are eaten by, among other creatures, bats and dragonflies (which I’m seeing more of) . . . but there are just so MANY of them. (Annie Dillard has an interesting reflection on nature’s “mindless fecundity” in Pilgrim at Tinker Creek.)

"What about the idea of 'fallen creation' -- things in nature that destroy and hurt and have no visible benefit?"

Or you think about truly miserable weather, like the 100-degree-plus heat they’ve seen in the Great Plains this summer. Or disasters. Or anything else in creation that doesn’t seem to have an upside. How to account for some of this?

Jane: Betsey, although my recent trip to Alaska renewed my awe for creation's design, as far as these ferocious mosquitoes go . . . sometimes nature seems so random, even nasty!

Betsey: Well, I’ll ponder this while safely sequestered indoors, dreaming of blustery October skies, beef stew and a world where a woman has the right to bare arms without fear of airborne enemies using your skin as a landing strip. Slap!