Dog, Man's Best Friend
It's been a little over 2 1/2 years since we adopted our rescued greyhound, Ray. Micah had always wanted a greyhound and as I was campaigning hard for a dog to keep me company at home while I slept off my night shifts, Ray was a natural addition to the family. The kids have loved him. And we have loved him. I've never met an easier dog. He's friendly when we need him to be, and self-sufficient when we need a little space. Most of all, he's present.
When we go out of town, often one set of our parents or the other will watch him. It hasn't happened very often, but it's great to have their help. On one of those days, just before a trip, Ray was already gone from our house when I got home from work. I turned the key, stepped into the house... and no one was there to meet me. I hadn't realized until that day how much it means to me to have his brown eyes greeting me, tail wagging, legs stretching as he eases up off of his bed.
On the days when I don't have to be at work early, Ray and I stand at the door and wave to the kids and Micah. He bumps my hand with his head, and I scratch his ears as we watch them leave. The he looks up at me, we smile, and we each settle in to whatever we're doing next. He curls up on the floor at my feet as I work on homework, or follows me throughout the house as I clean. He's just present.
Today as they pulled out, I was reminded of something that happened soon after he joined our family. Ray is not a barker. With the exception of when he's hungry or when he sees visitors outside the window, he rarely makes a peep. When he does, it's usually more of a whiny yowl. But one day, back when I was still working night shift, I was sound asleep in my bed. In my sleep I heard a deep, loud bark that sounded like it was just below me in the kitchen. It startled me awake and I jumped. It wasn't like Ray to bark. Surely it was another dog, somewhere outside. But it had sounded so close. After laying awake for a long time, I finally drifted off back to sleep. A few hours later I got up and went down to the kitchen. As I sipped my coffee, I looked out our back window. Suddenly I realized our garage side door was hanging open! Alarmed, I went out to the garage, closed it, and locked it back up. We'd never used that door, and as far as I knew it had been closed and locked. Had the wind blown it? Or was it something worse--had someone tried to get in? Then I remembered the bark. I'll never know what happened that day, whether someone was trying to get in until Ray barked, or whether it was just the wind that blew the door open. Either way, I was never more grateful for our dog.
In the wake of 9/11, there are always stories that surface about events that took place and acts of heroism in the face of the tragedies. Today I stumbled on a story about a dog named Daisy, a service dog for a man who was blind. They were trapped in the World Trade Center and unable to get out, so the man let Daisy off her leash so that she could escape. She didn't. She came back shortly after with his boss in tow. She led them and almost 400 other people to safety. Once they were outside, she went back in. She led another 300 people safely out of the building. But she wasn't finished. She went back in once more, only this time the building collapsed. Thinking she'd surely been killed, the owner was devastated. That is, until a firefighter emerged from the building carrying Daisy. She'd led them directly to another group of people just before she was injured. She'd saved nearly 900 people.
I've never been a huge dog person. I wanted a dog for mostly personal reasons. But as I've grown to love our dog, as I've shared my days with him and learned about other similar animals, I'm struck by how incredible they are. Dogs are everything we strive to be in our best moments: loyal, selfless, calm (most of them, anyway), warm, welcoming, forgiving, and even heroic. I don't know all the reasons why God made the world as he did. But I'm learning, more and more, why he made dogs.
When we go out of town, often one set of our parents or the other will watch him. It hasn't happened very often, but it's great to have their help. On one of those days, just before a trip, Ray was already gone from our house when I got home from work. I turned the key, stepped into the house... and no one was there to meet me. I hadn't realized until that day how much it means to me to have his brown eyes greeting me, tail wagging, legs stretching as he eases up off of his bed.
On the days when I don't have to be at work early, Ray and I stand at the door and wave to the kids and Micah. He bumps my hand with his head, and I scratch his ears as we watch them leave. The he looks up at me, we smile, and we each settle in to whatever we're doing next. He curls up on the floor at my feet as I work on homework, or follows me throughout the house as I clean. He's just present.
Today as they pulled out, I was reminded of something that happened soon after he joined our family. Ray is not a barker. With the exception of when he's hungry or when he sees visitors outside the window, he rarely makes a peep. When he does, it's usually more of a whiny yowl. But one day, back when I was still working night shift, I was sound asleep in my bed. In my sleep I heard a deep, loud bark that sounded like it was just below me in the kitchen. It startled me awake and I jumped. It wasn't like Ray to bark. Surely it was another dog, somewhere outside. But it had sounded so close. After laying awake for a long time, I finally drifted off back to sleep. A few hours later I got up and went down to the kitchen. As I sipped my coffee, I looked out our back window. Suddenly I realized our garage side door was hanging open! Alarmed, I went out to the garage, closed it, and locked it back up. We'd never used that door, and as far as I knew it had been closed and locked. Had the wind blown it? Or was it something worse--had someone tried to get in? Then I remembered the bark. I'll never know what happened that day, whether someone was trying to get in until Ray barked, or whether it was just the wind that blew the door open. Either way, I was never more grateful for our dog.
In the wake of 9/11, there are always stories that surface about events that took place and acts of heroism in the face of the tragedies. Today I stumbled on a story about a dog named Daisy, a service dog for a man who was blind. They were trapped in the World Trade Center and unable to get out, so the man let Daisy off her leash so that she could escape. She didn't. She came back shortly after with his boss in tow. She led them and almost 400 other people to safety. Once they were outside, she went back in. She led another 300 people safely out of the building. But she wasn't finished. She went back in once more, only this time the building collapsed. Thinking she'd surely been killed, the owner was devastated. That is, until a firefighter emerged from the building carrying Daisy. She'd led them directly to another group of people just before she was injured. She'd saved nearly 900 people.
I've never been a huge dog person. I wanted a dog for mostly personal reasons. But as I've grown to love our dog, as I've shared my days with him and learned about other similar animals, I'm struck by how incredible they are. Dogs are everything we strive to be in our best moments: loyal, selfless, calm (most of them, anyway), warm, welcoming, forgiving, and even heroic. I don't know all the reasons why God made the world as he did. But I'm learning, more and more, why he made dogs.
