The Dog God
We walk slowly along the country road; my dog sniffs passionately at every tuff, every twig, stopping abruptly for some mysterious odor that entrances her. She will pounce on some pile of leaves, intent on scattering whatever she thinks is under it. Then she forges ahead with vigor, straining at the lead. But wait! She stops dead, her small black and white head pivots behind as she hears an approaching vehicle. Her whole body tauntly focused on the oncoming vehicle. Is it him? Can it be? It has been so long! Is it…
The dog God?
In my area a plumber drives around in his black van on his way to jobs here and there. Whenever he passes a dog, he slows down and tosses a biscuit out of the window. They all know him and so do we dog walkers. He smiles and nods but his focus is on winging that treat out of the window and then off he goes.
Meet the dog God.
As the vehicle approaches, if it is black my dog becomes a quiver with alertness. Will the manna arrive? Can she hope? As it passes I can sense the disappointment if it turns out to be a car or, even more of a let down, a black van — but not the right one. But then, perhaps when she is not so hopeful, up he drives and out comes the gift from the dog God: an ordinary crunchy milk bone.
Ah, but is it really so ordinary? — This gift from the magnificent dog God that appears and for a moment, offers my small dog great joy? The universe smiles on her and recognizes her value, rewards her patience and love with this gift from the dog God. If she did not attend so carefully to the noises around her, might she miss the act of beneficence? And so too, are we listening for the small but real gifts of grace that pass us each day? Perhaps more silently than a van on a bumpy country road, but nevertheless, a recognition that each of us matters if we but only look and accept the gift.
