I broke down and gave Daisy, our adopted collie, a bath last week. Bathing is a major undertaking when it comes to collies. You could knit a couple of miniature poodles just from the undercoat you brush out in the process.
But after it’s done, it’s worth it.
So, I drove Daisy to a self-serve dog wash place. I lined up the shampoo bottles and laid out plenty of towels, adjusted the water temperature, and I lifted Daisy into the tub. She shot me a look of resignation when I turned the spray on her. This was not her favorite thing in the world, and she wanted to be sure I knew that.
We adopted Daisy two years ago from Collie Rescue of Southeastern Pennsylvania, after FanCee — half-sister to our other collie, Prince — finally had to be put down. We truly loved FanCee, but she was in constant pain and the vet said there was not much more we could do for her. FanCee was a week shy of her 14th birthday. We still miss her.
Now Prince is 13 1/2 years old. He has arthritis and his hind legs don’t always work. Sometimes he needs help getting up from slippery wooden floors, and the three steps to our back door must look like Mount Kilimanjaro, judging by the way he looks at them before struggling up one at a time.
We know what’s coming. I try to savor every moment we have left together. Death casts a long shadow when you love something or someone — a person or a pet. Love takes us places we would never go willingly and enriches us in ways we never thought possible along the way.
On Sunday, at our church, we had our annual pet blessing, in honor of the Oct. 4 feast day of St. Francis of Assisi. I laid hands on the beloved pets of our community and their caregivers, knowing that blessings bestowed are, first and foremost, blessings received. I blessed Prince and Daisy at home because Prince wasn’t up for the service and he would have been beside himself if I’d taken Daisy alone.
Prince has been part of our family since he was an 8-week-old puppy. Sometimes when I look at him, I catch a glimpse of the little furball that tumbled across the lawn “herding” a beach ball and wonder how I’ll ever manage without him.
As I lathered Daisy, I was struck by her trust. Unlike Prince, Daisy has lived a life in which people have not always treated her well. I’m reminded of that whenever she barks — it’s more a “squeak” than a bark.
Daisy was a show dog early in life. I learned that show dogs used to be debarked — that is, some of their vocal cords were removed — so owners and judges didn’t have to contend with an arena of barking dogs.
Thankfully, the practice has fallen out of favor because of its excessive cruelty, though it remains legal in Pennsylvania if it’s performed under anesthesia by a licensed veterinarian. The shift away from debarking, however, did not come soon enough for our Daisy.
Daisy won enough shows to earn her “champion” certificate and was bred twice by her owners. As a champion, her puppies commanded a premium price. After her second litter, she was spayed and sold as a pet to an older man, who surrendered her a few years later to Collie Rescue when he moved into an assisted living facility. Which is how Daisy came to us.
I considered the twists and turns life takes as I began rinsing her. And I was struck by Daisy’s patience, staring off into the near distance. She trusted me — what an astounding gift, considering.
Daisy is 10 years old now and, over the past two years, has had to get used to noise and the chaos of five young grandchildren, an awkward big brother, and the ins and outs of a large extended family — and she’s done it all with a good-natured grace, trusting us despite everything she’s been through. I try to live up to her trust every day. I always want to be the person my dogs think I am, even — especially — when I know I am not.
Isn’t this what God asks of us? To see ourselves through God’s eyes? To hold fast to what is good, and true, in the face of hurt and disappointment? To have faith when everything — including our politics — provokes us toward jaded cynicism? To hope even when nihilism says that all is lost?
This week, we marked the one-year anniversary of the horrific events of Oct. 7. The Middle East teeters on the brink of war as Israel and Iran, along with Iran’s proxies Hamas and Hezbollah, trade violence for violence. Their shortsightedness threatens to engulf the whole world, compounding the interest on needless human suffering while leaders say, “We have no choice.”
As I paid the cashier at the dog wash, Daisy gave a shake from head to tail. It was time to head home. I was soggy and my back hurt, but Daisy was clean and even more beautiful than usual. Yes, it was worth it.
There is always a choice.
The Rev. Charles H. Oberkehr is pastor of Trinity Lutheran Church in New Holland.
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