Dog and God

The picture shows our daughter Rachel’s dog, Reg. We call him ‘two-home Reg’ because he is at our house almost as much as his own, as we look after him when she is working.

The dear old mongrel is—at the time of writing—14 years old. But he remains active and alert, in spite of being fuzzy-sighted, seriously deaf, and on regular meds for arthritis and epilepsy. He still enjoys his three daily walks, a pulling-game with one of his soft toys, and a cwtch on the sofa. We all love him a lot.

He and I have some good conversations—one-sided, I admit, but I like to think that, behind those big brown eyes, he understands every word, whether I speak in English or, as I commonly do to him, in Cornish. I often look at him crashed out on his bed and remind him how lucky he is. He hasn’t a worry in the world. Nothing to be afraid of. His trust in us is absolute. No concerns about where his next meal is coming from. A bed by the radiator. No anxiety about paying the vet’s bills. No fear of being beaten or hurt. No fear of dying either, as dogs don’t have the self-awareness of humans and, as far as he’s concerned, he’ll live for ever.

Sometimes when I look at him snoozing happily on his bed at full stretch, snoring gently, I mentally tweak King David’s imagery in Psalm 23 and say, ‘The Lord is my dog-owner, I shall not want.’ I’m pretty sure the Lord wishes me, as his beloved child, to be as secure in his love as Reg is in ours.

In reality, of course, I’m no more a dog than King David was a sheep. We are humans, not animals, and that comes with responsibilities. But putting those to one side, I can learn a lot from Reg. Most important, his trust in us, and his utter conviction that we can be relied on to do him only good, is the kind of trust in God that I want to perfect. God is for me, never against me. He has a soft spot for me. He is committed to my well-being in spite of the negative factors which, like Reg’s arthritis, constantly challenge the smoothness of everyday life.

Being a human being, I need to be responsible in handling my finances, maintaining the house, eating healthily and guarding my thought-life. But when I’ve done my best at all those things, I move into the realm of trust in God’s fatherly care and provision. I imagine him looking down at me with a fond smile on his face as I snore gently in the small hours, saying to himself, ‘What a lovely lad he is!’

Being a human being, I sometimes have legitimate concerns—worries, even. But when I’ve done everything practical to mitigate them, I can learn to unload them onto his far broader shoulders and drift off into another contented snooze by the radiator.

Being a human being, I’m stuck with self-awareness. I understand past, present and future and their interconnections. So, unlike Reg, I know that one day I shall die. But thankfully the Lord has taken care of that for me, too. In the person of Jesus he has been down into death, removed its sting, and come out victorious at the other side. He assures me, ‘No need to worry about dying, dear boy. Been there, done that, taken care of it all. Just stick with me and you’ll be OK.’ Ah, wonderful. ‘I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.’

So, though I’m now past 80 years old, there’s life in this old dog yet, and it’s definitely a dog’s life that I want to cultivate. A life marked by security, trust, love and rest. Think I’ll just turn myself over and signal to the Lord that I’m ready for a tummy-tickle, some encouraging words, and maybe a bit of squirrel-chasing in the woods later, after tea.