It's bad all over

It's bad all over [but cats are still so dramatic! :-)].

The loyalty of a dog II

A love that conquers fear of death

There are more things in heaven and on earth, Horatio
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
Hamlet, act I, scene v.

Recently, I’ve read some stories about Civil War dogs – the bravery, loyalty and courage of dogs who accompanied their masters into battle. Sallie, a dog adopted by the 11th PA regiment, followed the men into battle that fateful July day at Gettysburg. On the first day’s fighting, the regiment was decimated by Confederate fire and overrun. Despite the confusion of the Federal retreat, Sallie made her way back to her fallen comrades, and there she stood sentinel, licking the faces of the dying until they passed into another world...and guarding the bodies against looters, refusing to leave. Days later, after the Confederate retreat, a member of the 12th Massachusetts found her still on guard, weak from lack of food and water, but still alive. Today, her monument graces that glorious field at Gettysburg…

Another story is told of Confederate Brigadier General William Barksdale’s dog. Barksdale led his Mississippi boys into battle at Gettysburg, only to be cut down on the second day’s fighting. Following the battle, Barksdale’s wife journeyed to Gettysburg to exhume her husband’s remains and return to their home in Mississippi. It was a trip that broke the heart of Barksdale’s dog. Troy Taylor tells it this way:

She was accompanied on her trip by the General’s favorite hunting dog. As the old dog was led to his master’s grave, he fell down onto the ground and began to howl. No matter what Mrs. Barksdale did, she was unable to pull the animal away.

All through the night, the faithful dog watched over the grave. The next day, Mrs. Barksdale again tried to lure the dog away, but he refused to budge, even though the General’s remains had already been loaded onto a wagon to begin the journey back to Mississippi. Finally, saddened by the dog’s pitiful loyalty, she left for home.

For those who lived nearby, the dog became a familiar fixture during the days that followed. He would occasionally let out a heart-breaking howl that could be heard for some distance. Many locals came and tried to lead the dog away, offering him food, water and a good home. The dog refused all of their gestures and eventually, died from hunger and thirst, still stretched out over his master’s burial place.

Wow! What a story of loyalty and love! Can we ever fathom the depths of true dog and human love? It is said that on the night of July 2, the anniversary of Barksdale’s death, an unearthly howl echoes across those silent Gettysburg hills -- a witness of a faithful dog who still grieves from a place beyond this world…dead from a broken heart.

In another story of love, the 102nd Pennsylvania Regiment named their large black and white dog “Jack.” Jack fought with distinction ‘through a score of battles’ and finally took a bullet at Malvern Hill. He recovered from his wound only to be taken captive with his comrades at Salem Heights, and imprisoned for six months at Richmond…

York, the dog of Federal Brig. General Alexander S. Asboth, fought with his master throughout the battle of Pea Ridge, Arkansas. He ran beside the general’s horse, refusing to leave his side…one eye-witness was so impressed that he sketched a picture of the dog which ran in Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper.

Just a few stories of loyalty between dog and master, fortitude under fire, for the sake of love…

A love that risks itself for the other

Upon reading these stories, my mind went to a time where my dog Wyatt almost killed himself to be near me…and then, in turn, where I had to risk myself to rescue him.

On this gorgeous spring day, a friend and I were exploring, looking for campsites and potential fishing spots. We walked several miles, roughly following a large creek through a mountain pass. A tributary, smaller creek formation caught my eye on the other side, and I decided to cross the large creek for a closer look. I knew better. It was a dangerous creek, more like a mini-river, a favorite of local kayakers…the second fastest creek in Pennsylvania.

In the back of my head lurked the images of four children drowned the same day by this creek, neighborhood children buried by my father, who offered their funeral services years ago. And, I was also warned by the knowledge of a kayaker killed that year on the creek. So I took caution…I thought.

I picked out a section where the creek broadened out, a gentler section where the deepest water wouldn’t even reach much above my waist. Downstream, the creek narrowed through rock walls into twisting vortex of undercurrent and whitewater…but I wasn’t going down there! No way! Not a chance…I was here, many yards upstream, where it was safe to cross.

So I asked my friend, Joe, to hold my dog Wyatt while I crossed. I cautioned Joe not to drop the double-rope leash at any cost: “Whatever you do, please don’t let him follow me!” I couldn’t take the chance that Wyatt would be swept down into danger. So I charged Joe with the task of holding him, and started across.

I balanced myself, walking with care across the rocks and into the deeper parts. It all went well…until behind me, above the roar of the creek I heard a shout: “Loy...Wyatt!” I turned to see Wyatt dashing into the creek, leash and all. He would not be held. It was too much for him to see me crossing alone. He had to be with me!

He wrenched himself free by pure force, and braved the creek. Several leaps and then he was swimming…swimming, and then gone. “Wyatt! No!” I shouted! “NO!” But it was too late. The current grabbed him and swept him down toward the vortex. Only seconds, but it seemed forever: I watched, stunned in horror…as my dog swept faster and faster toward death, struggling for his life. “God, no! Please!”

Suddenly, something caught Wyatt. There, a large single, large rock jutted out of the stream…swept to that exact spot, he clung for dear life. Drenched, and visibly afraid, he looked back at me, pleading to me for help. “Stay, Wyatt, stay!” I cried. I held up my hand, giving him the hold signal…and with all the power in my lungs and body, I commanded, “Stay!” If he tried to move, he was done.

I only had seconds to make a decision.

The current swept by him on both sides, there so deep and powerful that it would take both of us. Vexed in my spirit, I could not leave him! But I had no answer. Even the rope I brought would just hang me in the current…but I had to do something! He couldn’t hold on forever!

Immediately, a voice said: “Approach the rock from directly above. Let the current take you to him, and then trace the exact steps back up to lower water, directly against the current.”

And just as immediately, I acted. “Stay, Wyatt!” “I’m coming!” I took a deep breath, and positioned myself directly above him. Gingerly I walked…then deeper and faster the current caught me…but it only pushed me to that same rock! Wyatt’s fear-filled eyes looked at me with hope, and I carefully took him in my arms…a full-grown, large dog, but he felt as light as a baby to me. And he rested as gently as a baby, too, trusting me implicitly, as I turned back and faced the current. He did not struggle in the water at all…he instinctively realized his life was in my hands, trusting me for the outcome. And I trusted God, and prayed…a step at a time, straight against the current, one more step, not fallen yet! Another step…another…another…gradually less depth, and gradually less current…and then…free from danger!

Just like that, the ordeal was over.

A hint of Love greater than all loves

I put Wyatt down on the bank. And he looked at me with incredible understanding, and licked my face. I’ll never forget that look. He was trying to thank me, in awe and gratefulness. He knew. And I knew too, that should I ever have need, he would die for me in a second.

I hugged him, grateful that we both were alive. How was I to scold him whenever he only wanted to be with me?

And I looked at my friend Joe. He hung his head: “I couldn’t hold him,” he said. “He tore himself free.” And I shook my head. “It’s ok.” “It’s over.” “All’s well that ends well…”

And, it was well!

We made our way back, each a little richer for the experience. I gave thanks to God for clear intervention, for the still, small voice of power and peace. I also gave thanks for the bond between this man and dog, which mirrored, if but for a moment, the infinitely higher bond between human and Creator – a Creator that is never at loss to rescue His loved humans.

I prayed then, and pray still, to be a child that would not fret His control, nor tempt His hand. “It is written,” said the Lord Jesus. “Thou shalt not put the Lord thy God to the test.”

Indeed! But thanks be to God, those times I’ve walked that edge of testing Him, He has been so faithful! And to think that He loves me and you far more than I loved Wyatt, or Wyatt loved me! And yes, He has risked far more to free us from the vortex of our days...

Such incredible, infinite Love!

For those of you hanging on by a thread, in the threatening vortex of life…may the loyalty of a dog renew you again in the loyalty of the One who holds you safe in His awesome hands!

Trust child, trust. Stay, and release yourself to His care…

Alleluia!

The loyalty of a dog

I saw this Peanuts cartoon of Snoopy and Lucy – with Snoopy doing his loyal best to please Lucy, with all his doggy powers, even with her disdain! – and I was reminded of my dog Wyatt.Until Wyatt, I would have never believed a human could have such a connection with a dog. Many times, at just the slightest look or motion from me, he’d do exactly as I wished. He lived to please me: his life a lesson of loyalty!

Which is why, one day, I was so surprised when he seemed not to listen.

We would run through the woods: I’d jog the miles of Pennsylvania trails and logging roads, and he’d run beside me, or range slightly ahead or behind… always coming to heel at my command. So neat! I could be facing away from him, jogging, whistle once, and he’d run, catch up with me, and hit my hand, and then race in front, tail wagging! I wouldn’t even have to look at him to know he’d heed. For him it was a friendly game of tag: joyful obedience.

But this day, I decided to do a longer run, and split off the trail, running along a creek that cut through a mountain gorge. Beautiful scenery, a railroad path through hardwood trees and rushing water! I was caught up in the wonder and glory… Suddenly I realized that Wyatt wasn’t running behind me.

So, immediately I stopped and whistled. Nothing. Then I yelled, “Wyatt!” “Ho!” But still nothing. My voice echoed lonely on the mountain. No Wyatt, not even a distant bark.

This frightened me. Where was Wyatt? We were a couple miles from home now, and surrounded by a forest that stretched out for miles. Why wouldn’t he at least answer? Was he hurt? Or worse, chasing a deer? I had trained him not to do that! But what if a few whitetail deer had tempted him over the line and he was now far away… lost?

All these thoughts poured through my mind. I walked back, calling his name. “Wyatt!” Nothing. Only an empty echo. I grew sick at my stomach. Oh, why had I come this way? Why didn’t I keep a closer eye on him?

The minutes passed, and with each minute, my heart fell further. I breathed a quick prayer, and called again: “Wyatt!”

Suddenly, I heard a yelp. Wyatt ran out of the woods, wet and breathless. Panting. Hard. What was this? He was totally exhausted! Saliva dripping from his mouth, but his tail was wagging non-stop!

Relief surged through me. But then my fear turned to real anger. “Wyatt!” “Why didn’t you come?” “Why didn’t you answer?” I was having none of his tail-wagging nonsense. It was clear: he had disobeyed and risked harm. I grabbed his collar, shook him, scolded him and smacked him. Hard.

In my mind, his life was at risk. If he disobeyed like this in the future, someday he wouldn’t come back! So I was not easy on him.

I’ll never forget the look of confusion in his eyes when I disciplined him. He took it, but there was something else there: he was crushed, and not feeling guilty.

So after stern reprimand I then discerned that he wanted me to follow him. He ran, looked back at me, ran, and looked back… and I followed him. He crashed through the brush, over a ditch, and then picked up his prize, eyes beaming and tail wagging. What? What was this? A groundhog?

Yes! He had chased down a groundhog, killed it. He had carried it over rocks and hilly terrain, through a small creek… to me. He was bringing it to me, as a prize, this huge groundhog fully 30 percent his weight: He couldn’t answer my call because he was carrying that groundhog, running as quickly as he could through impossible terrain!

In his mind, he was not disobeying me; he was treating me and serving me. He had exhausted himself trying to do two tasks: come when I called, yet bring me a prize.

My eyes filled with tears: I knew I had been unjust. Wyatt was trying his best to serve me, to gain my applause… and I had hit him and scolded him instead. Oh!

I held out my arms and called him: “Good boy!” He leapt into my arms. I knelt down then, hugged him tightly, wet hair and saliva and all, and cried. “I’m sorry, Wyatt!” I kept saying over and over, “Good Wyatt! Good dog!” “I’m so sorry!” His entire body quivered with forgiveness and delight. He licked my face as if to say, “Yes, I forgive you!”

I picked up the groundhog then and did a warrior pose with it, held it up as Wyatt’s kill, and his eyes shone!

I hung it high in a tree and hugged Wyatt again. Then I took him down to the larger creek, let him drink, and washed him. I let him sport in the water for awhile to renew his strength, and then we ran home.

I’ll never forget that day.

I learned loyalty from my dog. I learned that justice must often decide between appearance and reality. I learned about myself, about life, and about higher relation with God.

For God never has to decide between appearance and reality. He is always just, ever wise and true: He sees perfectly, first glance. And, oh! If I would have the faith to serve Him – without judging His justice – as Wyatt had served me!

P.T. Forsyth says that the slowness of God is not the absence of God, but rather a form of His wise justice and compassion. George MacDonald comments that life is no series of chances with a few providences sprinkled between to keep up a justly failing belief, but one providence of God.

That is our Master. There is no shadow of turning in Him. His sight is true. His providence for us is perfect and whole, even to the details of this day. His calling is true vision.

What a lesson…

Wyatt lies now in a princely grave, near those same forest trees where he brought the groundhog to me, dead these four years from snakebite.

Wyatt! I bless your memory, my friend and companion! You taught me much about faithfulness…loyalty to my Master, too…

If the resurrection of Christ means anything for souls of animals, then I will see you again, my friend!

Amen.