Canine Theology

Do you know someone who has a perfectly trained dog? You know the ones I’m talking about. They always come when called, never bark at unseen objects,  and leave your possessions alone.  My dogs aren’t like that. They come when they want to, bark at the wind, and chew holes in my best socks.  So it’s surprising that these imperfect creatures – who live with an imperfect human – can demonstrate deep theology. But here’s a recent example of canine theology.

Bernie Proofing

 My younger dog Bernie is a character. He’s a long haired dachshund and lives life on full tilt holding nothing back. Some people toddler proof their homes. I have had to “Bernie proof” mine.

 He has managed to remove cookies from zippered pockets on my backpack. And I don’t leave cups or bowls unattended lest he figure out a way to sample the contents.

Are there Moravian dog treats?

And right before Christmas, he helped himself to a sample of Moravian sugar cake. It’s not unusual that a dog would sniff out a treat like sugar cake.

But the cake was in a plastic bag that was packaged along with some metal tins of cookies in a large cardboard box. I thought the table was high enough to keep the dogs from investigating.

But I returned to my house after a 10-minute absence to find that Bernie had somehow managed to drag the box off the table without giving himself a concussion,  chew a hole in the side of the cardboard box, and was in the process of dragging the sealed plastic bag containing the sugar cake under the dining room table where he could sample this splendid concoction out of my reach. I recovered the cake before he made himself sick. But I had to rethink my party menu.

Never underestimate Bernie

My kitchen trash can is a pull-out drawer with a handle that is waist high. I had always presumed it was out of reach for either of the dogs. Never underestimate a dachshund. You’ll regret it.

Last fall, I caught him pawing at the bottom of the cabinet. But I wasn’t concerned. The latch was secure, but I distracted him with a treat, took the offending trash outside, and didn’t think much of the situation. And as an added precaution, I used industrial strength Velcro on all four corners just to make it harder to open.

Led into temptation

A couple of weeks ago, I left the house on a Friday morning to meet some friends for breakfast. I was only gone a little over an hour. I unlocked the back door, stepped inside and – I gasped.

My kitchen floor was covered with shredded paper, coffee grounds, and the remainder of the trashcan liner. In the middle of the mess, Bernie was happily shredding a discarded cracker box.

Canine Theology. Caught in the act.

“Bernie! What? Why?” I yelled at him, and he caught my eye. I’m sure his mind was bent on self-preservation when he bolted from the kitchen and attempted to abscond to the bathroom, only to find his way blocked by a closed door. And of course, as he ran, he left bits of trash in his wake.

A willing accomplice

I scooped him up and cleaned coffee grounds off his feet and tail and picked bits of shredded paper towel from his fur. By this time, Daisy had decided to investigate and was standing in the middle of the mess.

I rounded the dogs up and got them away from ground zero, all the while rehearsing what had been in the trash. But since yesterday was trash day, I was reasonably sure that the coffee grounds were the worst of the problem. No chicken bones or button batteries or sugarless gum that could injure or kill either of the dogs.

But you were going to throw it away, right?

I swept up the mess and damp mopped the kitchen. By this time both dogs had retreated to a safe distance and were watching me with interest. Their quizzical expressions amused me. Do they wonder why humans are so protective of coffee grounds and old paper?

A sweet lesson in canine theology

I sighed and sat down on the sofa. I opened my Bible and soon Bernie joined me. He wiggled under my lap blanket until only his head was visible, and he looked me in the eye. He was confident that I still wanted him around and of course I did.

It was in that moment that God spoke to me. Okay, it wasn’t an audible voice. But I knew it was Him. “Why were you so upset with Bernie?” The answer was obvious. He made a terrible mess. But more than that, he could have gotten hurt. Or worse.

A weighty lesson from a small dog

And God reminded me that’s how He feels about sin. Sin destroyed the perfection of creation. That’s a mess that only Jesus could fix.

But the reason He doesn’t want me to do certain things isn’t because He doesn’t want me to have fun. It’s because He knows what’s good for me and wants me to enjoy abundant life. And that doesn’t involve me playing in the trash.

I spoil my dogs. They eat well, get regular walks, and lots of attention. They aren’t missing out on the good life.

But the lure of a locked door is irresistible. And the smell of trash is intoxicating.

I’m the same way. God has provided me with every spiritual blessing, everything that I need to live the life He called me to live. Yet, like Bernie, if I see a locked door that I believe hides something I want, I’m quick to try to break the lock.

More canine theology

But God wasn’t done with the lesson. He pointed out the sleeping dog in my lap. Bernie is not shy about asking forgiveness and expecting that it has been granted. He didn’t cower in a corner waiting for me to look for him. He joined me and assumed I would offer him grace and forgiveness.

The power of forgiveness

God has never refused to forgive me. And I can be confident that He won’t. If I confess my sin to Him, He is faithful and just to forgive me, and to cleanse me from all unrighteousness. The forgiveness is there. I just need to ask.

What about you? Are you digging around in the garbage when you could be in the presence of God? Or are you hiding in a corner, aware that you’ve messed up, but afraid to admit it to a heavenly Father who already knows?

We have permission to come boldly into the presence of God to find the help we need. My canine theology teacher understands that. And I’m learning.