This country is doggone crazy. Statistics show we love our dogs, and I’m no exception. My favorite bumper sticker reads, “I wish I was half the man my dog thinks I am!”
Like most dog people, I have a favorite breed: I’m a sucker for a Boston Terrier. From my earliest memories, our family has always had a Boston. The tradition began with my Grandma Hart, who had a number of Boston Terriers over the years but used only two names: Rocky or Butch (great names at that!).
Boston Terriers lived at our house, too. I was six or seven years old before I realized I only had three blood brothers… it came as quite a surprise when I discovered that the short one with a pug nose wearing a tuxedo was not considered kin.
Today, even as I’m writing this article, Mollie is snuggled beside me; wedged between my arm and the arm of my overstuffed chair. She is a professional napper and if you’ve ever been around a Boston, you know they are terribly prone to snore. Mollie snores like a logger who just stumbled in from a two-day drunk. It’s incredible how loudly a 14-pound dog can snore. My chair vibrates from her garbled attempts to breathe. I’d love it if she could sleep with us, but her incessant snoring makes it impossible. She even snores when she’s wide awake…making the phrase “sound awake” completely appropriate. She’s a one-dog, two-nostril orchestra!
Mollie’s mealtime routine goes like this: She sits at my feet; her head drooped between her shoulders; face slightly downcast, her big auburn eyes dramatically rolled up and locked like laser beams onto my gaze. Within moments a tiny whine, like air escaping from a balloon, emanates from deep within her chest while her whole body vibrates uncontrollably. If I ignore her, she regains her composure and carefully reaches out with her paw and gently taps me on the foot—all the while never breaking her tractor-beam gaze.
We dance this dance each evening, and if you’re a dog lover you get it. Like a tongues-speaking Pentecostal I begin to talk baby talk. Through pursed lips I coo, “Aw…is it time to feed the puppy? Bless her heart… look, she’s getting weaker and weaker.” (This is her cue to bat her now tear-filled eyes, her body seized with shivering.) If I lean forward in the least, indicating I may be rising from my chair, she completely regains her composure; her ears snap to attention, her eyes widen, she rears on her hind legs and snorts with delight. If I fail to rise, sits back down and re-strikes her pitiful pose… preparing for Act II.
But there’s no need, she’s won! As I prepare her dinner in the kitchen, she sits quietly in the parlor like a fine English lady. Years ago, for whatever reason, I began sliding her bowl across the kitchen floor to signal, “Dinner is served, m’lady!” Upon hearing the bowl screech across the vinyl, she walks with regal dignity (for you see, a lady never runs) to her bowl. But then suddenly, as though possessed, she dives headlong into her bowl, snorting and gasping for air. It’s really very embarrassing. I make sure I feed her well in advance of any visitors.
Visitors. That’s another issue. Whenever Mollie greets people she snorts like a pig. When my niece, Katie, introduced her then 2-year-old son, Jaxson, to Mollie, he asked, “What is that?” When Katie answered, “That’s Mollie, Uncle Ron’s dog,” Jaxson scoffed and announced with disdain, “That’s not a dog, Mommy! That’s a pig!”
In spite of her flaws and quirks, I love my Boston Terrier. Mollie doesn’t do a thing to merit my complete devotion, yet she has it. That’s exactly how the Lord cares about each of us. He chooses to take delight in you, loving you just as you are.
Jeremiah, the crusty old prophet, here speaks about the limitless love of God for His people—
God told them, “I’ve never quit loving you and never will.
Expect love, love, and more love!”
Jeremiah 31:3 The Message
Read Ron’s column, Simple Faith, each Saturday on the Faith Page (page 3) of the Lancaster Eagle Gazette, or visit www.lancastereaglegazette.com.