Friends,

I am no fan of dogs but the truth is that I have two of them. I did not ask for them. One was a surprise, the other was a favor. They are nice animals as far as it goes, but I would not be any the more sad if they were not mine. I know that sounds ‘mean’, but I hear that what matters nowadays is ‘authenticity.’ I am being authentic.

Dogs. Who decided we humans should have pets? Worse, who decided those pets should be dogs? When it comes to dogs there is no in-between: One either likes them or not. I do not. I think part of what I do not like about dogs is simply that I do not understand them. People always say, “Dogs are some of the smartest animals on the planet.” Huh? They make no sense to me. I do not understand the constant following, the panting, the fetching of sticks, the sniffing of butts, the gulping of food, nor their particular affection for, well, feces. Sorry to be so icky about such things, but again, I am being authentic.

I have two dogs. Well, to be sure, they are my wife’s dogs. I tolerate their presence for the sake of my wife and sons. Every now and again I will pat them on the head as a reward for leaving me alone. (They do not receive many pats!) Still, we give them a place to live (I’d rather have a couple of orphans or homeless people), we feed them (I’d rather have more food on my plate), and we exercise them (well, in this case it is better they than I). But do you know what those ungrateful animals do? Every chance they get, every opportunity that presents itself, they will run off into the woods behind our house and be gone for hours. They will run and run and run and run and only when they are ready to come back will they do so. No amount of hollering, whistling, tracking, or anything of the sort will get them back until they are ready to return. It’s almost as if they have minds of their own. Yet for all their supposed intelligence, they are the dumbest creatures on the planet.

Stupid animals.

They have a nice house to live in, food to eat, people who happen to love them and care for them. They are watered, they are fed, they are bathed, they have toys and bones to play with, and three boys who, for some reason beyond my ability to comprehend, like to sleep with them at night. I do not pretend to understand why anyone would want to share their bed with a dog, but they do. These dogs have the life. They have it made. They are living the proverbial dog’s life. And yet they still, every so often, run off into the dark, wet, scary woods. They still persist in constantly reverting to their animal ways.

They do come back; eventually. And when they come back it is inevitable that they come back absolutely filthy. Why you ask? Well, it gets back to what I said above: They (especially the beagle mutt) have a particular affection for scat–and it doesn’t matter what animal has produced it either. As long as it stinks, as long as it is rotten, as long as it is simply beyond the tolerance level of the human olfactory sense they will roll in it, enjoy it, and return to it again, and again, and again. No matter how many times we say no. No matter how many baths they get. No matter how unsanitary it is, they still keep going back. They have an uncanny knack for finding it too. If it is to be found, they are pros.

Stupid animals.

I fully realize there are some of you ‘out there’ who love animals and likely find this offensive. And there are likely others of you who find my attitude towards animals repugnant. Please, however, don’t be too quick to judge. You see, at the end of the day, I am still the master of the house and it is still my decision as to whether or not the dogs come back into the house; I always let them back in to my house. Sometimes, I am even kind enough to spare my wife the worry they have been hit by a car or lost in a pond by going and looking for the dogs. This doesn’t mean the dogs get off scott-free. Oh, no! There are consequences for being a disobedient dog: Sometimes they have to eat in the garage with the cat, sometimes they get a bath with the hose, and other times they ignored for a day or two.

But at the end of the day, stinking like feces, dirty as dirt, and, ironically, happy, they still know where to come home to. And they still know that I will open the door for them, feed them, scold them, and let them sleep under my roof. The rest of the family, well, they have jobs too. They wash them and clean them, they give them all the concern and “oh, we have missed you and are so glad you have returned” they can. Eventually, I come around after I have seen how much the rest of the family has rejoiced at their return, how much they have forgiven those wayward, stupid animals. I just wish the dogs would realize how good they have it right here with me–even when I am distant and uninterested. I wish they wouldn’t be so embarrassed about looking and smelling clean that they have to run back to the scat that is strewn about the woods behind my house. I wish the dogs would learn to be content, to rest, and not so concerned about going back to what we have cleaned them up from a hundred times or more.

Stupid dogs. Will they never learn?

Soli Deo Gloria!

Father, Have mercy on us! We, the wayward, we cry out for your grace. We pray your guiding hand lead us home safely. Amen.