As long as I can remember, I have loved dogs. I particularly like big dogs but I’ve only owned one big dog. His name was Tad and he was the most beautiful Boxer that has ever lived.
I
was quite young when my family got him. Early on we entered him in a
couple of dog shows and he won them both. His kennel owners wanted us
to show him on a regional and national scale because they were convinced
he could be a great champion, but we decided against it because we
wanted Tad to be a family dog.
Some of my most
treasured memories of Tad were playing football with him in our
backyard. I would line up with the football and Tad would position
himself in front of me. When I said “Hike!” Tad would jump up and put
his front legs on my shoulders and ride on me until he tackled me. He
was a wonderful football coach because when I started Little League
football at the age of seven, I was far ahead of the other kids and
could run by them all.
One of the
curses of Boxers is that they generally don’t live long lives. Tad made
it to about six years old when he started having problems. He
developed a seizure problem that was horrifying to watch. His seizures
eventually got the better of him and he passed away.
Death was
something I hadn’t experienced yet in life as a seven-year-old. If I
think about it, I can still get the chills I experienced when I heard
that Tad would not be coming home from the vet. Those moments of seeing
his food dish, his leash, the bell on the door he would ring when he
wanted out . . . realizing he would never use them again was absolutely
heart-wrenching.
Our next dog was
a spunky Poodle-Schnauzer named Bo. Somehow I had heard that my mom
had talked with a lady up the street who knew of someone who had
Schnauzer puppies for sale. Somehow I found where my mom wrote down the
information because the next thing I knew I was on the phone calling.
This pleasant voice answered the phone and I asked about her puppies for
sale. She said she had puppies for sale but, perhaps, was my mother
available to talk on the phone. (I couldn’t understand why she didn’t
want to talk business with an eight-year-old). My mom got on the phone
and sometime later we were heading out to go look at the puppies.
When we arrived
at the house, I recall there were two puppies- a boy and a girl. I was
drawn to the girl because she had the classic Schnauzer coloring.
However, my brother and mother were drawn to the boy . . . he was
black! I couldn’t understand why anyone would want a black Schnauzer,
but in order to guarantee our chance of taking a dog home, I quickly
changed my loyalty and said the little black dog would be just fine.
Somewhere along the way home we decided his name would be Bo.
Though we all
loved Bo, it was very clear that his priority was my mother. Anytime my
mom left the house, Bo would go to my second-story bedroom and watch
out the window until she came home. He obviously knew what kind of car
she drove because as soon as she drove by the house he would let out a
howl of pure glee and race to the garage door. He would continue to
howl until she came in. Once she came in, he jumped up and down in
absolute ecstasy for another few minutes.
Bo had an
amazing ability to make friends with other dogs that I have never seen
before or after. One day when he was probably two-years-old I was
walking him around the neighborhood and went by my friend Nick Siefert’s
house. As we passed by, Nick’s dog Hercules was barking in their
yard. Bo seemed to want to go say hello so I allowed Bo to go to the
fence. I could tell by the tales wagging that both dogs were very happy
to meet one another.
It wasn’t too
long after this that my mom was awakened in the middle of the night by
the sound of a dog whimpering under her window . . . it was Hercules
wanting to play with Bo. So, my mom let Bo out the front door at about
3:00 AM and the two of them scampered into the night. Bo came home
about 6:00 AM.
This soon became
a nightly ritual. However, little did we know that there was another
dog in the gang. One day Mrs. Dempsey was talking with my mom and asked
if my mom realized that Bo and Hercules came by every morning at about
3:00 AM and whined for her dog Blue. We had no idea. The gang had a
wonderful span of nightly excursions until Hercules died. I can’t
recall if Bo and Blue continued or not.
The most
beautiful thing about Bo was that he was always there for me during
years of constant change. Bo was my companion from second grade until
my early twenties. He was there after a tough day at elementary school
when I got in a fight with Peter Pavlakis. He was there after a
break-up with a girlfriend. He was there when I came home from prom.
He was there after my big victory against Sheridan High School. He was
there the day I left for college. He was there the day I came home from
graduating from college.
He wasn’t there
the night of my twenty-third birthday. He hadn’t been feeling well and
had been staying at the vet. All day at work I was hoping and praying
that Bo would be home for my birthday. When I got home from work, my
parents and my brother and sister-in-law were in the family room. They
were waiting for me to take me to dinner. After I greeted them I said,
“Where’s Bo?” Nobody said anything.
I slowly stood
up and went downstairs to my room . . . and cried! My buddy, the one
who had always been there for me, was gone. Needless to say, I didn’t
go out that night for my birthday.
Many years
later, my wife and I decided to get a dog. We hadn’t firmly decided on
exactly when we would get one, but I woke up one Saturday morning and
knew that this was the day we’d bring a new family member into our home.
We went to the
local shelter . . . I was so eager that I got there an hour before they
opened. Finally the door opened and we went back to look at the dogs.
My wife was interested in a smaller dog that didn’t shed. I was hoping
for a bigger dog.
As we walked
down the corridors, each kennel contained about four dogs. There were a
lot of Pit Bulls that didn’t seem very happy to be there nor the fact
that strangers were looking at them. We got to a kennel that contained
four smaller dogs. One was a cute, white dog that sat up and placed his
nose through the chain fence. He seemed to be saying, “Look at me . . .
how can you walk past me and not want ME?”
We stopped and
looked at him for a moment and then kept walking and looking. We got to
the end of the kennels and I looked at my wife. “Well, I guess I
didn’t see anything today.” My wife hesitated and replied, “Can we go
back and look at the one again?” I knew exactly which one- the small,
white dog.
So we walked
back to his kennel and asked the worker if we could take him out of the
kennel for a closer look. The shelter had a little play area to get
better acquainted with the dogs. The worker took the dog out and
brought him to the play area. This little dog was so glad to be out of
the kennel that he ran and ran around the play area. I remarked to my
wife, “He doesn’t seem too interested in bonding with us!” Just after I
said that, as if on cue, he straddled up next to me and gave me a big
kiss. “OK, this one is ours!”
We named him
Bojo which stands for Bo Junior. To the best of our knowledge, he’s a
Poodle-Cocker Spaniel mix . . . and my wife and I love him down to the
last inch of his tail. He gets two walks every day. I walk him before I
go to work and my wife walks him in the evening. I also jog about
three times a week and Bojo demands to be with me for those runs as
well.
So what lessons
have my dogs taught me about life? So far, all I’ve done is share a few
stories about my three dogs. My dogs have taught me how indescribably
great the gift of life is and how amazing unconditional love is. My
dogs have allowed me to experience some of the deepest joys my heart has
ever known. The simple act of knowing Bojo has ripped away dead layers
on my heart. My heart is softer now.
OK . . . you may
be still wondering what is the major theological point? After all,
this is a pastor’s blog so there must be something “spiritual” about
this. Here it is . . . I know that Bojo is going to die someday. I
can’t tell you how much that is going to rip my heart apart. I’ve asked
God to grant Bojo a long life. Maybe God will, maybe He won’t. But
before Bojo dies, I will praise God every day for this little dog’s
precious life. And eventually . . . hopefully a long, long time from
now when Bojo dies, I will praise His Creator for giving me the
unbelievable privilege of being with one of His precious creatures.
This is what my
dogs teach me about life . . . life is about the gift of life given to
us by God and the relationships we form through these gifts. They are
truly more precious than silver and more valuable than gold.
Now, if you are
not a dog-lover, you are probably convinced that I am officially off my
rocker. However, if you are a dog-lover, I’ll bet that you are saying,
“Amen, amen!”