I continue to learn spiritual lessons from my dogs.
Well, to be more accurate, the Lord teaches me lessons through my dogs.
Which is surprising because I never was much of a pet person.
Until I got my dogs.
Two-legged or four, if you have a strong maternal instinct, you become Mommy to anyone dependent on you. For this empty-nester, it filled a void that had been there since my youngest flew the nest.
We didn't intend on having three. In fact, I didn't intend on even having one. But my husband had pleaded, cajoled, and begged for years until I finally gave in.
We'd just moved into a small parsonage with a huge yard. I was joining him in full-time ministry and our lives had changed drastically. He thought the timing was perfect. I wasn't so sure.
We visited our little poodle puppy every day from the moment she was born. Actually, we visited her brother. But, being a softie for the underdog, I wanted the runt. The one who seemed to need us more.
For six weeks I prepared to be a dog mom. I still wasn't feeling it but I was starting to come around.
The day before we were supposed to get her we were doing a fish fry benefit at a community center. Next to the center a woman had set up with a box of puppies she was trying to find a home for. Wanting to prepare myself for my new puppy, I played with the one remaining dog in the litter. The runt no-one wanted. He was adorable.
I brought my husband over to look at him.
"Go ahead and get him if you want. Two won't be harder than one," he declared.
A miniature schnauzer, she told us. A little boy dog to go with our little girl. I barely hesitated before I picked him up.
Buddy, I declared. He's my little Buddy!
The homeless guys who'd gone with us to help with the benefit trailed behind me as we scoured the pet aisles in the nearest store for essentials for my new baby.
We made the decision to pick Princess up that evening instead of the next day so that they could adjust to a new home together.
It worked. There was very little whimpering.
After church the next day, everyone sat around playing with the puppies when one of the homeless men said, "Uh..you might want to rename your dog...this is not a boy!" (I'd not bothered to check; I took the lady at her word. She'd said he was a boy. She also said he was a miniature schnauzer. Wrong on both counts!)
Nonetheless, less than 24 hours later, I was experiencing a flood of hormones as if I'd given birth to these puppies myself. I'd become their mother and that protective instinct kicked in.
I never realized one could feel so strongly about their pets.
I finally understood that connection.
But, as was the case with my other children, as they grew, the whole family experienced growing pains.
Princess and Anabelle (formerly Buddy) refused to be house-trained. In fact, somehow they became trained backwards. They'd run outside for hours, then come in and use the bathroom. They'd chew up training mats and newspapers. They ate my furniture. They took over my bed.
It was frustrating but we loved them.
So we cleaned up after them and waited for the day they'd grow out of their chewing phase.
Then I went to visit my parents.
And the phone call came.
"Tell your husband that the puppy is weaned and he can come pick her up today," the voice on the other end boomed.
Um, what?!
I wasn't clueless; I knew what he was talking about.
In fact, I remembered the conversation well. It had ended with "No, you absolutely cannot have another dog."
I was livid as I called him. "Um, Don said you can come get your dog today," was my accusatory greeting.
He fumbled around for a response before once again telling me that this was a pure-bred Chihuahua who'd normally cost hundreds of dollars that he was getting for free. I reminded him of our tight living quarters and the impracticality of yet another dog.
He insisted on bringing the dog home for a few days to play with our grandson who was visiting and assured me that he'd bring the dog back as soon as our grandson left.
I knew at that moment that we had a new dog.
No way could I spend a week with her and send her back.
This is the very reason I have a hard time taking in foster kids. I bond quickly and deeply.
Isabella made us a family of five.
I will admit that my husband was right when he'd argued that she wouldn't be any trouble. Apart from some initial jealousy with the older two, she fit right in.
Nearly a year old and still only five pounds, self-trained Izzy is probably the dog we should've started with.
Instead I started with two chewing, shedding, mischievous (non-miniature) dogs with a penchant for darting out of the house and into the nearest mud hole the minute someone opened a door.
The day they learned to jump on the furniture was the day I lost control of my house.
Nighttime was no respite as they sprawled out in the middle of the bed, leaving us clinging to the outer edges.
The worst of it all was the smell.
Twice weekly, burn your lungs chemically, complete house bleaching did little to alleviate the odor.
Twice daily sweeping couldn't remove the fine layer of pet hair that had settled on everything, including kitchen cabinets.
It was never-ending and I was getting disgusted.
We'd stopped hosting meals after church.
We'd stopped eating our own meals at home.
We talked for months about the problem. We just couldn't find a solution.
If we found new homes for them, I'd be throwing away my babies. This brought up so many issues of inadequacy as a parent that I bawled for days just thinking about it.
If we separated them, they'd lose a part of themselves. They were twins from different litters.
If we sent them outside, they'd be traumatized. They were inside dogs, conditioned to a warm bed and comfortable temperatures.
So we did nothing.
And the problem got much worse.
Not just a little bad, but of a whole other magnitude.
I hated coming home.
My husband began to feel neglected. The more unhappy he was about me spending hours away from home, the less I wanted to be around him as well.
It turned into a vicious cycle.
It was no longer about the dogs.
The problem grew until we found ourselves at odds about everything. Our marriage, our ministry, our future. Quite frankly, I wasn't sure what was going to happen.
The dogs were still an issue, but we were dealing with so much other stuff that we'd accepted our pet problems as a part of life.
Committing to communicating better for the sake of the church and the ministry, we went back to square one.
He didn't like that I was gone all day and then when I came home, I'd lay on the bed reading. I didn't like that the bed was the only place I could go not covered with pet blankets and dog hair. I hated the smell when I came in and it was hard to feel romantic with doggie doo permeating your nasal membranes so I'd quickly tune out.
We both agreed that it was wrong for us to have let dogs overtake a building owned by the church. We used to host three-four meals a week at our house and now we didn't even want company inside.
There were no other options: the older two had to go outside.
They didn't mind; they loved it out there.
But then nighttime came.
They whined. They scratched on the door. They cried.
I cried too.
They were confused but we spent time outdoors with them. We bought a new doghouse. We bought heat lamps. We move them to the fenced in portion of the yard only when necessary now; ironically, they trained faster in three days outside than they did in a year inside.
It has been an adjustment for all of us, Isabella included. But, as with most cases of hindsight, I had not realized how much of our problems had been caused by the dogs.
With the house back in order, we once again have company over and have enjoyed nice candlelight dinners in our sweet-smelling home. I sit on the couch and read while he works on his sermons or we do crossword puzzles together like we did when we were first married.
I enjoy being home. Most of all, I have JOY.
Before you think this is a missive advocating putting your dogs outdoors, let me be clear. It is not about that at all.
Isabella is still indoors and I couldn't imagine life without her underfoot.
It is about KNOWING there is a problem in your life (for us, the two older dogs being inside) and refusing to do anything about it because it's too hard. They might get hurt. We don't want to hurt. Instead, we turned a blind eye to the problem and watched it escalate to the point where it could've destroyed an entire community.
Keep ignoring the sin in your life and it will grow. Like a leaky pen in your pocket, the problem will continue to spread.
Whether it's a stronghold in your own life, or you condoning the sins of someone else because you "love them too much to hurt them," you are only throwing a Band-Aid on a gaping gash.
Don't wait too late. Sometimes we just have to do what's right, no matter how much it hurts, and trust in the Lord to take care of it.
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