Lessons from a dog
A popular saying from 1950 westerns was “You’re gonna die like a dog.” As a young child I never stopped to think of the implications of that saying, but knew because the man in the black hat said it with a sneer, it was not a good thing. Looking back, I realize he was implying that to die like a dog was to die with no significance. But this month, at the death of our golden retriever, we had occasion to rethink that first impression.
Purchased during our “rocks and flowers” era (rams were dubbed Jasper and Mica, donkeys were Dandelion and Petunia, the horse was Lily), this 8-week-old bundle of mischief was named Poppy. For the last 11 years Poppy has been a fixture on Solid Rock farm, and a faithful companion to Abel.
As a 7-year-old it was Abel’s job to water all the farm animals, a job he often forgot until dark descended. So it was Poppy who ‘protected’ him from every imaginable creature as he hurried through his chores. And while she dutifully accompanied Abe on many expeditions into the swamp to search out beaver dens and all manner of wildlife, what she really lived for was retrieving. Whether it was hurling her body off the dock in pursuit of a tennis ball, or grabbing a stick that was casually kicked down a path, Poppy had retriever-madness. She also had cancer.
So how does a dog die? With a lot of grace and dignity. More than that there was a continual fidelity to her master, her eyes lighting up every time she heard Abel’s voice, or saw him coming. And when she could no longer walk to him, she still followed his every movement with her eyes, her tail weakly thumping out a message of devotion to him.
If we could die like that, looking with devotion to our Master, keenly watching His work in our lives, listening to His still small voice even when we are too weak to respond, what a glorious death that would be. “But ask the beasts, and they will teach you; the birds of the heavens, and they will tell you…” Job 12:7.
