A Plea for a Great Dog

Today, I'm praying for my sister's dog.

Sam was old and in bad shape when my sister found him four years ago, or more accurately, he showed up and decided she was his owner.  He's blind, mostly deaf, fat and slow.  He is also a large furry beloved to her family.  Samwise (his full name) lives up to his Tolkien namesake. He stays, he's loyal, and he means to for all time.   Sam suffers through toddlers who love him deeply as only toddlers can (and all that that sort of love entails).  He also is simply a simple comfort and has been a friend during difficult and lonely dark times, as only the best dogs are. 

Samwise remains the only canine my oldest son has ever thought awesome. Dogs are allergic to my son. They see him and start barking.  I'm not sure why, but I know it has been true ever since he was 5 and a neighbor friend's adopted dog jumped into our minivan and scared the bejeebers out of him.  After that, stray dogs began following us in parking lots, zeroing in on him.  He's never been bitten, but he can see their hostility and it is decidedly evident to everyone else. Sam was and remains the exception, and Sam is now very sick. 

So we're praying to Saint Francis, who loves old dogs that gratefully thump their tails with all the energy it requires for a few pats and can give you the understanding look that only truly good and old dogs can give, that shows an empathy that surpasses the ages and a "You're still here?" bewilderment at the same time. 

I'm hoping Sam has a bit more time to spend with his family here because it's never a good time to say goodbye to a true and loyal pet.  So if you don't mind the littleness of this request (and I know there are plenty of harder worse things in the world to pray about), I'm asking for a quick petition, because the world is hard enough, and the blunter sharper edges are made better when dogs like Sam are still here, lying on the rug, thumping his tail.

October 4th, 1988

When I was stuck in New York for a month, recovering from an emergency surgery in the fall after college, a family friend who was also a Catholic priest, invited my mother and me to attend the feast of Saint Francis, held on October 4th at an Episcopal Church in the village. The liturgy included dancers and choirs and a parade of exotic creatures including amongst other things, a donkey, elephant, llamas, fish, snakes, birds, and a congregation of pet owners.

We sat behind a woman who had two daschunds. The first was in her arms, an obviously smaller and older dog that needed to be comforted in the presence of so many other animals. The second pet, a youthful brown pup, tried to get her attention. He stood on his hind legs. He yipped. He begged. She wasn't interested in switching the old dog for the younger. Making it through the parade of all God's creatures Great and Small and the readings, he was mollified by the occasional doggy treat.

However, the homily ran long.

The dog was tired. The dog was bored. The dog wanted to be petted and picked up and had done every trick he could think of, including licking the hands of those of us sitting behind him. Since we weren't receiving communion, this didn't pose a problem. He rolled on his belly for us to give him a rub. Alas, sitting so close to a priest, he wasn't likely to find that cradle raised Catholics would be able to divert themselves too long in his direction, even if it wasn't a Catholic mass. Admittedly, I felt freed up to pet him after Fr. C did. But we couldn't give him what he wanted, the seat of honor in his owner's arms.

Finally, in frustration, the dog peed on the church floor. It was long, it was deliberate and to make sure she knew it, he yelped to get his mistress to turn her head before he started.

Fr. C. turned to us and said, "Original Sin affects us all."

Happy Saint Francis of Assisi Feast Day Everyone!