Learning From a Dog's Life

Sometimes God uses the most unlikely things to teach me about myself.

Like a dog.

Our dog is a character, to say the least.  She is smart.  She knows the difference between "ball", "frisbee", "Kong", and generic "toy" (which is anything that is not ball, frisbee, or Kong).  We did not teach her that, at least not deliberately.  She knows that if we tell her to get her Kong, that means we're going out and leaving her at home.  She knows that when we put our snowpants on, that usually means we're taking her with us.

She is funny.  She regularly makes us laugh.  She can entertain herself for hours with a frisbee in the snow or in the water.  She attempts to carry sticks that are more like small trees.  She pounces on a ball and makes it bounce up into the air, only to catch it and shake it like it's a small rodent.  She races over hill and dale in the woods.  She embraces every moment, and is full of life and the joy of living.

She is determined.  If her ball rolls under a piece of furniture, she will stick her legs under the furniture to try to poke it out.  If that doesn't work, she will lie with her legs under the furniture, looking woeful, refusing to budge or be distracted by another toy.  She knows what she wants, and there's no changing her mind.

She is also strong-willed.  Maybe that comes with being smart and determined.  But she is very strong-willed.  I am not a perfect leader, but I am not a passive leader.  This dog is not allowed to do whatever she pleases.  But boy, does she want to.  Anyone who says that dogs don't talk back hasn't met our dog.  She will lie down when we tell her, and moan and groan as if we've asked her to lie down on hot coals.  She's like the kid who says, "I'm sitting still, but I'm wiggling my toes inside my shoes."  Her body might be lying down, but her heart certainly isn't.

It is hard for her to submit.  She might go two, three, four days calmly submitting, and then she must test again our authority.  Are we sure we've got things under control?  Are we really sure we can handle her?  Maybe she should be the boss after all.  And so we must once again take her face in our hands, wait until she looks us in the eyes, and convince her, "Yes, Tikvah, we're sure.  We are the boss.  You are the dog." 

I wonder sometimes why it's so hard for her to submit.  We walk her.  We feed her.  We buy her toys.  We play with her.  We love her.  Every good thing that she gets comes from our hand.  Even our asking her to submit to us is for her own good.  We know things that she does not.  We know that a dog that is allowed to do whatever she wants whenever she wants to quickly becomes a menace to other dogs, people, and herself.  So we curtail some of her natural instincts.  No, you may not chase that squirrel across the street into traffic.  No, you may not jump up on that old lady to say hi to her.  Yes, I know you hate the leash and would rather run free, but yes, I am still going to put you on it and expect you to walk politely beside me.

She thinks we're being mean, and she grumbles and complains.  We know better.  We know that submission is for her own good.  She is smart, but not so smart she can see complex cause and effect.  She does not understand the big picture.  In the end, she is still a dog, driven by instinct, and it is up to me as the human to set limits on her to keep her safe.  But I have to admit, there is something in me that admires her fighting spirit.  I wish she could have both --  the independence of free will and the wisdom to be responsible.  But that would be expecting her to be human instead of recognising that she is a dog.  And that, rather than being loving, would, in fact, be the height of cruelty.  She is not equipped to be human.  So I set limits, and I grieve that she struggles so against them when I know that they are for her own good.

And as I once again wrestle with this too-smart-for-her-own-good dog, I see myself.  I get so frustrated with her for the very things I do myself.  I know I know better than she does, but I fail to see that God knows better than me.  I see how unhelpful her do-or-die attitude is, but I am blind to it in myself. I know that she cannot see the big picture, yet I convince myself that somehow I can see God's picture.  I know that she is not capable of being free and responsible, that she is not able to play human, yet time and again, I try to play God.  And the worst part is, I expect him to let me.  I am no different than she is.  I fuss and I fight and I question him time and again.  Oh, days and weeks might go by where I willingly submit, but sooner or later, I question him again.  God, are you sure you've got this under control?  Are you really sure this is best?  Because I don't much like it, and I think maybe I know better here.  Maybe you should just let me be the boss of this one.  And when he resolutely refuses to let me have my own way, I might lie down on the outside, but I know my heart has not submitted.  My toes are wiggling in my shoes.

How it must grieve God.  He provides for all my needs.  He loves me.  Oh, I know how he loves me!  Every good gift that I receive has come from his faithful and loving hand.  How it must sadden him to have to take my face in his hands and wait until I look him in the eyes and then have to say to me yet again, "Yes, Marianne, I'm sure about this.  I am the boss.  You are the human."  He is far, far too good, and loves me far too much to ever inflict upon me the cruelty of allowing me to be god of my own life.  And the truth is, even though I am often a fool, I am wise enough to know that I really don't want him to.  I know that I truly am better off when he is the boss and I am the human.  Deep down, I know that I am not equipped to be God.  That's where I might have a slight edge over the dog.

We need to learn, Tikvah and I.  I'm not sure why it's so hard for her to submit.  I'm not sure why it's so hard for me.  What I do know is that if either of us are to be truly useful, if we are to reach our full potential, she to be the very best dog she can be (and that is great indeed) and me to be the very best human I can be, we need to accept the limits.  We need to let go of the do-or-die attitude, and to truly trust that the one, or the One who is in charge knows best and has our best interests at heart.

I also know this:  of the two of us, Tikvah and I, I have the better deal.  I have God as my boss.

The poor dog is stuck with me.