There are few moments that bring me more joy than watching our three Pembroke Welsh Corgis running to greet me. Those familiar with these short-legged, rabbit-rumped, big-eared wonders will attest that the Pembroke swaggering waddle (or swaggle as I like to call it) is its own flavor of exhilaration.
Whether I am gone for fifteen minutes or fifteen days, Riley, his half-brother Andrew, and the little one, Oliver, are the purveyors of a riotous frenzy of adulation generously bestowed upon this human object of their affection. The display may vary in its duration, but never in its exuberance.
While I know for a fact that being so highly esteemed has little to do with my own merit, and everything to do with the nature of these lovely four-legged companions, I willingly accept the gift and everything it represents.
Loyalty. Trust. Faithfulness. Unconditional love. Relentless optimism. Categorical forgiveness. Irrepressible happiness.
Recently, a neighbor shared the story that as a younger man getting ready for deployment overseas, he was faced with the dilemma of leaving behind his two dogs. Unable to find them homes, time ran out and it became necessary to turn them over to a shelter already overrun with animals waiting for adoption or death.
Rather than bringing his dogs to strangers to be euthanized, he made the heartbreaking decision to do it himself. He resigned to shoot them with his own gun and bury them in the woods near his property.
When it came time, he was able to put down one dog with little effort, but the second dog was rightfully spooked and reacted too quickly at the essential moment. When he fired his gun, the dog was injured, but not killed.
Instinctively, he called her back to him.
And the most incredible thing happened. She came.
Bleeding and broken, she willingly returned to his arms, wherein he immediately finished the horrific task.
It haunts him to this day because when his wounded dog responded to his call, this man was shown the truest meaning of trust.
Children know this instinctively. When mine were little, they would practice spelling words by arranging plastic letters on the refrigerator door. One afternoon, my daughter announced, "Mama, dog is God spelled backwards!"
I shared the Native American legend of the Kato tribe wherein God did not simply create dogs; God Himself had a dog. So important have dogs been to the humans through the ages; they are both companion and counterpart to the human heart.
My son, barely four at the time and still transitioning his primary language from Mandarin to English, listened intently to my words. He then reached down to pet our aging Corgi, Raleigh, who rested at his feet. As my son stroked Raleigh's fur, I could see him carefully forming his words as he leaned in close to Raleigh's ear.
"Good dog," he whispered. "My dog. Your boy."
In those six words my son successfully described the intricate and complex relationship that has existed between human and canine for thousands of years. Six simple words to sum up the emotional interdependence of two very different species that has lasted across the millennium.
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| Raleigh on South Padre Island, Texas 2002 |
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