Molly and I

2PM Sunday afternoon, still groggy from the sleeping aid I took the night before, I laid in bed with a house of silence. The sun was still bright behind the bedroom sheer penal after 2 days of dreary rain. The good father had taken off to drop off the college son and a 5-mile hike with the other afterwards. Molly, my dog, was besides the bed, quiet and still as usual. She had been out this morning with daddy for a brief constitutional bathroom walk and was probably in need of another as the backyard sat in an absolute mass (or mess) of water and mud. Both my eye lids and head heavy, I wished nothing but to stay in bed forever. The spring air dancing in that glistening sky, though, persisted on to lure me outside. It was accompanied by a guilt that wouldn’t go away – something that associates with a thing called dogs. I turned my back and rolled away from the temptation outside the window only to face my dog silently lying on the floor, her eyes closed and breathing even. No, the guilt was not going anywhere. I sighed and struggled to get up finally. Yes, Molly, we are going for a walk.

How many trips have we taken together? I was thinking to myself as I strolled out with my 12-year-old black lab. Her tail wagging in glee, she went about the yard in her initial excitement. After almost 10 years of routines, the walk never lost its appeal for my silly dog. It could be as short as just around the end of the cou-de-sec or as extensive as miles. I called for her to put the leash on and there she came, crouching down with ears back and eyes filled with submission and adoration: I am here; do as you wish.

We have found a school yard right behind one of the neighbors’ street. Thus I came all prepared with a ball so that she could have a good run. As we walked into the little trail in the woods leading to the school field, I unleashed her to let her do some exploring before we reached our destination. The air was cool with a scent of rain despite of the filtered yet glorious sunshine. It is indeed March now; Spring is finally approaching after a seemingly stretchy winter loaded with much rain and a few unexpected snowfalls. A neighbor with his dog came into view as they had just finished their fun. Before I had time to call back my dog, she was already greeting them in her usual friendly manners. Both man and dog didn’t seem to mind, so I yielded to their brief meeting. A few more yards down, we were already on the open field, deserted in its solemn peace. The breeze continued to move to and fro. Besides the potent scent of rain fromthe past two day’s rain, I could almost smell Spring. Molly was all ready for actions now, circling about me with tails and ears high, awaiting for me to throw the ball. The pure and simple joy became so infectious that I was instantly awakened to the same excitement myself. We went about our routine as I tossed and she fetched. Occasionally my heart would skip a beat on her relentless leaps for the high-bounced ball. She was not aware of her mortality at 12 years old. Her face spelled trust as she went forth to retrieve the ball and returned to me with the same zeal and faithfulness as if it had been the very first day. How many times have we done this? How many years has it been since the day she came? And then the final, inevitable question always follows: how much more time do we have left?

I couldn’t help recalling the day when she came, how frightened and unsure we all were of this new relationship. She had just moved from NC to their new home with the only 2 owners she ever knew and her companion Golden Retriever. She was 2 and ½ with a body of pups not yet filled up. Her owner had dropped her off and sneaked out, leaving her with me in the middle of our living room. Her initial excitement and curiosity was replaced in no time as she went about the new space and found no Robert. I took her to my kitchen and sat down by the table, hoping to distract her from her uncertainty. Restless and confused, she walked back to the living room and continued her search. No, still no Robert. Finally, she laid herself down by the window, where she looked and waited -- for one whole month, during which she ate 3 or 4 times, grieving for her loss. In contrast, the very same change marked the beginning of our healing as the four tormented souls locked behind the door and banned from a normal world found comfort in a simple animal whole love never strays. Nine years of circling between Virginia and New Hampshire, our life has indeed gone through enough changes in many aspects, but she remains the same; older, but none the less obedient, compliant and faithful.

She came back one last time, finally tired out. Her eyes still glowed from the good and honest workout she had just had. They were saying also how happy she was and whatever it was next she was all ok and ready for it. A simple creature she indeed is, she lives with absolute contentment and trust for life supply of food, shelter, work and love, while we, the intelligent species, eagerly work for the same things with insatiable appetite that can never be satisfied. We worry for tomorrow, next week or next month and she lives one day at a time. She reflects the very two natures of my Savior’s ever-present love and His hope for me in this life. The alarming resemblance is not only in the love of a perfect God but also in the image of a perfect child of God. I stared at her, thinking how anxious I had been about my work project this past week, how the college son had made out with his mid-term and what should happen with the other’s future planning. They all seemed legit, but the truth remained: have I not ever been worrying all the time, all my life??

We took our return on the same trail; Molly ahead of me, bouncy and jolly as usual, while my steps idled and my thoughts somewhat weighted down. The woods were covered with hints of green sprouts here and there which would soon and effortlessly lead into such magnificent bloom that even the most skillful gardeners and talented artists resign at her dare. Somewhere on the tree top, birds were singing away while the squirrels were chasing up and down, celebrating their good fortune of a fine early Spring Sunday. Awe-struck and almost haunted, I stopped and stood there, as the matchless beauty and care-free joy of its inhabitants (my dog included) persisted on with the million-dollar mystery of life: in what way, or any way, are we, human, really the superior?