If I were a dog, and God were my master, how would He train me?

Don’t knock the comparison until you’ve heard me out. I know that sheep is the preferred metaphor of a believer’s walk with the Lord, whereas throughout Scripture, the mention of dogs is usually associated with evildoers.

But I have no firsthand knowledge of sheep. I’ve never raised one, never sheared one, never even held one. The closest I’ve been to sheep is at petting zoos.

I’ve been around dogs since I was small. My family had a gorgeous collie dog named Ralston, the first dog I ever remember, but he roamed and ranged and met an untimely end after a fight with a neighbor’s dog. My family also used to be nuts over beagles, with their all-night baying sessions. But for the most part, we specialized in mutts.

I currently have two dogs, both with entirely different physical attributes, personalities, and energy levels. I’ve also recently cared for two other dogs, one of which has the energy level of a grade schooler hyped up on red Kool-Aid and Skittles.

Coco the high-bred shih-tzu makes a horrible follower, unless it’s where she wants to go. Maybe we’ve done it to her. Just look at her. She’s on the cover of today’s post, fresh after a grooming. Sweet Husband had the picture framed for a Christmas present.

Anyone who has an enlarged photo of their dog hanging in their house is probably a bit of a nut, but we like it that way.

Coco, upon hearing the word “go,” heads for the door and then ambles toward the car or truck.

She would be an avid follower of the Great Commission except when the plan deviates from her expectations. When it becomes clear that we are not going to a motorized vehicle, she plants herself to the ground, often looking away from where I’m encouraging her to go. She will also meander in the opposite direction, toward the road, toward the pond, toward danger, without a thought of what’s ahead.

All she knows is she’s not getting her way.

She has no need for a leash, for she doesn’t move fast enough to require one. Most of the time, we have to give her stubborn little eight-pound body a lift, because her ego is either too big to condescend to our ways, or she’s just frozen up out of ignorance.

Inside the house, she is a true lap dog, comforting yet still demanding her own way, snuffling and chortling until she’s sitting beside me on the couch or in her own special chair while I write at the countertop. 

Gypsy, on the other hand, is a charismatic mutt of a pound puppy that never grew out of her youthful energy. She must be leashed at all times, and a walk with her is more of a darting gallop. You are guaranteed to work up a good sweat with Gypsy, but you might also require a visit to the chiropractor after a workout with her, for all her sudden starts and stops. 

Despite her hyperactivity, her exuberance is contagious, and you can’t help but love her. If you say, “Give love, Gypsy, give love,” she will put her paws on your thighs and bow her head against your legs while you scratch her behind her ears. Then it’s off to the races again, stopping to smell some other animal’s fresh turds, or to roll on top of the somewhat furry remains of a rodent’s carcass.

Then there is Ruger, the German shorthair pointer that Sweet Husband and I recently cared for. I wouldn’t dare leash Ruger. I would end up in the lake, in the woods, or somewhere across the highway. Most of the time he leaps off the porch, never mind the stairs, to do his business, eat goose crap, and rifle through the neighbors’ garbage.

He only responds to a shock collar, and though I feel badly about using it, it works. He jumps and flails at the first buzz, but even that sometimes doesn’t make him turn loose of whatever grub he’s found. Sometimes a second or a third hit is required. 

Don’t call PETA on me, please. Better a disciplined dog than a dead dog in the middle of the highway.

Except it’s not discipline. We’re working on that, for all three dogs. But there are some things that are just too ingrained to be corrected so easily. The safeguards will most likely always be required for each of them.

We’re ultimately just trying to save them from themselves.

I see myself in all three: sometimes I’m clueless and stubborn, sometimes I’m bounding with too much excitement and not enough direction, and sometimes I’m flat out where I’m not supposed to be, digging through the garbage. 

I’m just thankful that there is one instance in the Bible of Jesus using dogs to drive his point home:

Leaving that place, Jesus withdrew to the region of Tyre and Sidon. A Canaanite woman from that vicinity came to him, crying out, “Lord, Son of David, have mercy on me! My daughter is demon-possessed and suffering terribly.”

Jesus did not answer a word. So his disciples came to him and urged him, “Send her away, for she keeps crying out after us.”

He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel.”

The woman came and knelt before him. “Lord, help me!” she said.

He replied, “It is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to the dogs.”

“Yes it is, Lord,” she said. “Even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.”

Then Jesus said to her, “Woman, you have great faith. Your request is granted.” And her daughter was healed at that moment.

Matthew 15:21-28

I’ll trust God to “hem me in behind and before” by whatever means necessary, and I know He will also lay His hand upon me (Psalm 139:5) for comfort and protection.

I’m also more than happy to enjoy the crumbs that fall from His table. It is enough for me.

Plus, it’s far better than the neighbors’ garbage.