Tag: dog

  • House Pets

    House Pets

    Sometimes I look at my dog and think, “he wouldn’t last 5 minutes out in the real world.”  If he had to go out and hunt/scavenge for food and water, on his own, no chance.  Being cute getting someone to give him food and water would be his only chance at survival.  If that option is removed, he’s a goner.

    Look at this picture. It looks like he just ate a plate of strawberries and his afternoon plans are to lounge and get belly rubs.

    Exhibit A

    Granted, he is an 8-pound poodle/terrier mix.  He wasn’t bred to survive in the wild.  He was bred to be cute and to get people to give him stuff.  I’m just saying, removing that option = goner. 

    I can already hear the “big” dog owners.  “My dog would survive in the wild.  Yours is closer to a cat, mine still has some wolf instincts.”  OK.  Your golden retriever is not surviving a week in the wild without its cute factor, just the same as my poodle/terrier. 

    Golden Retriever Dog Birthday Photograph by Kathy Sidjakov
    Exhibit B

    My dog lives the most cushy life imaginable.  He sleeps all the time.  He wakes up and eats.  He sleeps some more.  He goes on walks.  Then he sleeps.  He plays.  He goes on bike rides.  At 9:30pm he stares me dead in the eyes and I know he’s saying, “You know good and well it’s time for bed.”

    It wasn’t until just recently that a very obvious and humbling fact slapped me right across the face.  I wouldn’t survive a week out in the wild.

    I was looking at my (adorable) little dog curled up on the bed, petting his soft hair, admiring how good he is, being jealous of how easy his life is, when I had that thought.  “You poor pathetic creature.  What would you do without me?”

    Who was I talking to?

    *Slap to the face.

    What would I do out in the wild?

    Here I was in my air-conditioned condo, with a giant Hydrapeak water bottle filled to the brim with ice cold water that I filled from my refrigerator.  That morning I’d poured Berry Colossal Crunch into a bowl, pulled a cold jug of milk from the refrigerator, and had cereal, like a proper grown man should do.  That morning I’d taken a piping hot shower.  I let the water run long enough so that it was plenty warm.  Cold shower?  No chance!  Running water came from a tap where I put a toothbrush I’d squeezed mint toothpaste onto to brush my teeth.  I then sat in a comfortable chair and worked at a computer. 

    Who was I to judge my dog?  I was living the same life my dog was!

    Put me out in the wild without food and water and tell me to figure it out.  Remove the option of me going to someone’s door and saying, “please feed me,” and I had no chance.

    I don’t think we take the time often enough to

    1. Stop and realize how blessed we are.
    2. Realize how pathetic we are.

    What would I do out in the wild without a can opener? Let alone having to hunt and find food?

    I’ve recently read a couple books about the old west.  A story I just read was about an 11-year-old boy who ran off with some Shoshone Indians (Native Americans).  He lived two years with them.  Eating buffalo meat.  Hunting rabbits.  Fishing for trout.  I was amazed at the life this boy lived just 170 years ago.

    Can you imagine if your ancestors could look at you now?  What a pathetic sight you would be.  Your great-great-great-great grandpa would marvel at your fancy light up information device and cans of food but would ask you, do you know how to hunt?  Do you know how to guide yourself by the stars?  Do you know how to survive without your pre-packaged meals and Uber eats? (Reminder- that great grandfather would be so perplexed by Uber eats).

    Can you imagine your great-great-great-great grandmother asking where you keep the chickens?  How do you grind the wheat for your bread?  (Do you grind wheat for bread??? I DON’T KNOW!)  Can you even cook without that radiation device that nuclearizes your food into something *edible?

    While modern advances are amazing, truly amazing; we have become so pathetic.

    That’s all.

    Just thought I would remind all of us of that.

    Next time you look at your house cat, little dog, big dog, or even your fish and scoff and say “you dumb and spoiled animal,” I hope you pause for a second and soak in the irony.

  • You Sent a Dog to Comfort a Boy

    You Sent a Dog to Comfort a Boy

    I was 21 years old.  I’d been couch surfing for a full year and starting to ask the serious questions.  What was next?  Was this me?  Was there more for me to do?  What do I do?

    Sensing the end of my ‘no attachment to anything’ days I decided I needed to take advantage of my freedom while I still possessed it.  No serious girlfriend, no serious job, no prospects for a serious job.

    I decided to take a trip to the homeland.  I packed up my teal ’98 Pontiac Sunfire and drove to Utah.  I stayed with various family members, intending to be there a week tops.  Weeks went by.  I stayed with a cousin to party, I stayed with an aunt for movies and dinner, I stayed with grandparents for home cooked meals.  Everything back then was tinted with selfish motivations.

    Eventually I ended up at the home of my Aunt Laura, Uncle Jon, and cousin Sydney.  

    They had a dog named Bengie.  He had been around a while.  At this point he must have been around 4 years old.  A little puppy-like dog, full of energy.

    I stayed in the guest bedroom in the basement.  I still don’t know if this was normal for Bengie, but every night I was there, when it came time to go downstairs for bed, he’d saunter down with me.  I’d get in bed and he’d lay at my feet.  Every night.

    This was a soul-searching trip.  One of the most spiritual experiences of my life happened in that basement.  There were many tears.  A lot of growing up and change happened there.  Things were thought about that hadn’t been thought about for a long time.  Options considered.  Prayers said to God that had been avoided for so long.  So many feelings and emotions.  A post later this week called “Jonah and the Whale” will elaborate on these prayers. 

    Through all those emotional moments, I remember a dog.  Sitting on the bed.  Keeping me company.  It was like God was saying, in a way my spiritually dimmed and simple brain could understand, “See him.  He’s here for you.  I brought him here for you.”  Multiple times Bengie was hugged, talked to.  You know, those weird, talk-to-the-dog-like-he’s-a-person moments.  “What am I going to do Bengie?  I’m scared.”  He would look at me and it was like he knew; it was like he understood. 

    If ever there was a dog that understood…

    I had a lot of comfort from that dog those few days. 

    So, when the time came that Bengie needed a home; Sydney was going to college and Uncle Jon wasn’t able to keep up with the day to day care of a still energetic, 11-year-old puppy, I jumped at the opportunity.  My mom was talking to Jon about taking Bengie in.  I asked and was prepared to beg.  Let us take Bengie!  Beth and I had just gotten married, I had just started coaching so Beth was home for hours and hours on her own. 

    It felt like the second time God sent just the right person, a dog, to answer not yet uttered prayers. 

    Today, I tell Beth that Bengie is my best friend, she can take second.  Everyone else has fallen behind.  Just like those days in that basement bedroom, seemingly alone, I’m never alone long.  Any dog lover knows, especially with a velcro dog, he’s always there. 

    It was only a couple months in to having Bengie.  We were at a dog park.  As soon as we walked in a playful pit bull took an extreme interest in Bengie.  It seemed playful.  A small amount of concern set in when the owner of the pit bull quickly intervened, pulling her dog by its harness and dragging it, kicking and screaming, to the other end of the park.  Beth and I continued to walk through the park.  We were dog-sitting a giant golden doodle that day.  So, Archie-the-golden-doodle ran bounding around the perimeter of the park.  Bengie did his normal perusing, checking out the hot spots of the area.

    Bengie was walking on his own, near no other animals or people.  I didn’t go to the dog parks with Beth too often.  It wasn’t in my nature to hover protectively over a dog when I did.  Maybe something did feel off when we came in with the pit bull and the other dogs, being playful, I thought.

    I saw the pit bull sprint right by me.  It ran at Bengie.  I continued walking towards them.  I was maybe 15 feet away.  I thought they were going to play.  Bengie, not appreciating the sudden surprise charge of a bigger dog immediately got defensive.

    It happened really fast.  The pit bull bit Bengie around the neck and started swinging him around.  I ran and grabbed the harness of the pit bull and yanked him back.  Bengie fell out of his mouth.  I pulled the pit away as he kept trying to get back to Bengie who was laying on the ground.  The owner showed up and was trying to calm her dog.  Beth showed up and scooped Bengie off the ground.  I didn’t see it happen; all I saw was the blood pouring from the pit owner’s hand.  I was lucky I got behind the pit bull.  She made the mistake of getting in between a dog and what it now, apparently, deemed prey.

    I’ll jump ahead, I don’t want to leave you in too much suspense.  Bengie survived.  By some miracle the pit bull didn’t get a full grip on his neck.  Only one side of him was punctured, the other side of his neck was just grazed.  If the pit got a proper grip, there’s no chance Bengie would have survived. 

    Puncture Wound

    The next day was really difficult.  Bengie wouldn’t eat or drink.  He couldn’t walk, though he tried to.  You know, because he couldn’t let us be anywhere in our home alone, even when he was near dying.  I don’t know if you’re supposed to bless animals.  I don’t think you’re supposed to.  I didn’t anoint him with oil.  But I held him, and I prayed, and I prayed, and I prayed.

    I know this will be silly to many.  Once upon a time it may have been silly to me.  But I love that dog so much.  In that moment I felt a tiny glimpse into what it’s like to see a child suffer.  I know, I know, he wasn’t a child, I get it. I’m still saying it.  I love him like a child, and it was really, really hard to see him so hurt and in so much pain.

    I can’t begin to understand, even consider the pain of losing a child.  I can’t.  I won’t let my mind go there and hope I never have to.  I learned a tiny, infinitesimal bit of that pain that day.

    Now, as my first daughter makes her way to my life, I realize how much Bengie has taught me.

    I like to think I’ve progressed more from a boy to man in these past 9 years. Since those first days with Bengie, when he comforted me.  He stayed by my side and slept at my feet.  He watched me pray.  He was there to look at me, with (I swear it) care in his eyes as I cried questions I had to ask.

    One day I’ll write about my Aunt Laura and why she was so special. Bengie was her special companion and comforter through her last years. Beth said something interesting recently. She said, “Sometimes I look at him and think about all the comforting he’s done.” For Laura, for me, for Beth. Aren’t we lucky God has sent us such special friends?

    You sent a puppy to comfort a boy. You sent a dog to teach a man.

  • You Sent a Dog to Save a Girl

    You Sent a Dog to Save a Girl

    *I wrote this to my wife when she lost her family dog and best friend of the previous 12 years.*

    You sent a dog to save a girl.  I have never gotten a full story.  I’ve never heard a full account.  I have seen the love in her eyes.  I’ve seen her hug and care for and love a creature with so much love.  It’s love I know she’ll one day pour out upon a child tenfold.  It’s maybe what drew me to her in the first place.  Her obvious ability to love and care for others.  She will be an amazing mother partly due to a dog.

    I’ve only known that dog to be old.  I’ve only known the whines and the cries.  The confusion.  From my eyes he has been ready for a long while.  But he wouldn’t let her go.  He knew she still needed him.  I saw a puppy in pictures.  I saw a puppy in her eyes every time she laid with him and pet his curly black fur.  I saw love for a dog that never left her.  I saw my wife, with so much capacity to love, unable to stop loving a dog that couldn’t stop loving her.

    I never heard of every night.  I know they existed.  The nights that she cried.  The nights she felt so alone.  The nights that she thought, “why did I upend my life, to what end?”  I know there were many tear-filled nights.  I had to go through the same.  I had a roommate and a best friend some of those nights, so I know.  I know what comfort is in those moments.  I know that on every tear-filled night there was a furry, black, kind creature that wouldn’t leave her side.  I know this because I’ve seen the love she holds for an animal that saved her life. 

    I will never understand the full extent of the bond between my wife and this dog.  I’ve only seen an animal that can hardly see or move, let alone play.  I see the love in her eyes, and I know he used to play.  He always comforted.  He was always there for her.

    Now his time has come.  I know this will be one of the hardest things my wife ever goes through.  Maybe the hardest thing since she changed her whole life to come back home.  He was there for her then.  He can’t be there for her anymore.  I know he’s been waiting.  He’s been waiting for me.  I now must replace the perfect, never ending, never ceasing, never decreasing love and devotion of your creature.  He wouldn’t leave her.  Now he must.  I’ll love her and care for her to the best of my ability.  I hope to come close to the love of a dog for his girl.

    I don’t know where my wife would be without a fluffy, black dog.  I don’t know if I ever would have met her.  In a million ways we would have never crossed paths.  If not for a dog, she wouldn’t be in my life.  If not for the many nights of comfort when she didn’t know if she could do it.  If not for every time he nuzzled her tears and begged for a pat on the head.  If not for his love, who knows where my wife would be?

    You knew my wife needed a dog.  You sent the perfect one.

    Now it’s his time to move on.  I’m sure it means there’s a child or an individual who needs him more.  You sent an angel in a fluffy, black, four-legged body to bring light to a home and to a young girl.  Now he’s needed elsewhere.  I pray only that I can love her as he loved her.  Support her as he supported her.  Comfort her as he comforted her. 

    You are a Father who loves us so much.  You send creatures to save our lives.  You love us in many ways, including through the loving eyes of a puppy.

    You sent Parley to save my wife.
    Thank you.