A Metaphor

For a very long time I have wanted a dog that stood guard at the end of the driveway and never wandered, a dog that would follow me anywhere, stop when I stopped, stayed put when I said stay, a loyal companion whose every move was predicated on mine. I’ve seen dogs like these and wondered how they became that way.

Many years ago I owned a Brittany Spaniel.  As loving as he was, he was totally undisciplined. He was yelpy and hyper active, loved us and annoyed us, and was thoroughly absorbed by his Spaniel spirit. His name was Lucky. He was named so as the sole survivor of 8 siblings. He proved his moniker after surviving wolfing down an entire 3-inch round fudge-stuffed chocolate Easter egg the day we brought him home. He once followed a scent (or was kidnapped by some misguided fool who thought he’d found the perfect hunting dog) and was gone for months, only to return with his legs full of fox tails. He was not so lucky the day the garbage truck ran over him right before my eyes as he was running in front of it on the street outside my house.

Lady was my next dog, a stray that showed up on a friend’s door step with a belly full of pups. Sweet dog that she was she birthed all those pups and happily took the submissive role in a household full of animals until she was passed over to me. Unfortunately, though she was loving and mothered every kitten I brought into the household and a passel of daycare children I cared for, she too had wanderlust and often climbed or broke through the fence to pursue her dreams. Though I finally mastered walking her on a pinch collar during the last year of her life (she was an extremely strong pit bull mix), she would have been off and gone in a heartbeat if left to her own devices. And while she faithfully followed me throughout the house, was tuned to my every mood, and I loved her dearly, the dog of my dreams still eluded me.

Shortly after my beloved Lady passed away, I sought to soothe my aching heart by adopting Maura, a beautiful Shepherd/Chow mix whose “rap sheet” promised she loved to lay by the fire and was great with children. As sweet-tempered, smart, and loyal as this dog was, she too had a habit of running off when the mood struck her. Granted, I didn’t try very hard to break her of this. I just hoped it would happen.

My heart was irreparably broken when I lost Maura fifteen years later. She had been my loyal companion for all those years. The queen of dogs. Irreplaceable. And then, in a moment of profound empathy for a sad faced border collie/hound mix I was thinking of fostering but couldn’t bear to leave in the pound for another moment, I adopted my darling LG. She had everything I was looking for in a dog. Smarts, loyalty, a submissive nature, a desire to please, and a natural tendency to stay close (the herding dog instinct).

In LG I believed I had finally found my dream dog. Fiercely loyal and obviously bonded to me (based on her tendency to follow me from room to room and whine frantically when I left the house) I knew I had come as close as I could to the perfect dog. Yet still, if on a scent, she seemed to lose her hearing and would not come when I called her.

Then this evening, as I let her walk off the leash in front of me, then stopped to see what she would do, she too stopped, waited, and then returned to me. And that is when it hit me.

God gave me the raw materials. It’s up to me what I do with them. In LG, I have everything I could possible hope for in terms of the opportunity to create my dream dog. But it’s not going to happen on its own. Yes, I took her to basic obedience training. And yes, I drill her now and then. But if I want her to be what I want her to be, if I want what I want, I will have to make it so. I will have to work with the material I’m given, the best chance I could have to have my dream dog, and turn her into one. It’s not going to happen on its own, or with minimal effort

This is my metaphor for life. God gives you the raw materials, whether that’s your intellect, your talent, your physical abilities, or simply your drive. You have to make it happen.

Do it.