Stray Dogs…

From the time I was born until I was about six years old, my best friend was Mo. Mo was a German Shepherd, fiercely loyal and protective. My mother would tell me to play outside, knowing Mo would watch over me. He did. Once, I headed north. I made it almost a mile; then, I got tired and curled up under an orange tree and fell asleep. When they found me two hours later, Mama said Mo was snuggled around me, protecting me, while I took my nap.

Another time, I headed south. An old man had escaped from the county rest home and was tangled up in the barbwire fence. They found me again, sitting crisscross, Mo, seated by my side, watching the old man trying to disentangle himself, cussing up a storm. I remember learning new words that day.

Despite my best friend being a German Shepherd, it was drilled into me from before my memory: never trust a stray dog. Unfortunately, people would drive out into the country, find a dirt road, put out an unwanted dog or an unexpected puppy, and drive off. The dog would run after the car, but no dog, not even a greyhound, can do sixty miles per hour. 

The reason I was told to never trust a stray dog was rabies. Mama had strong memories of rabid dogs, salivating, turning aggressive, and biting everything in sight. That was why we did not welcome strays. And there were a lot of them.

Mo tangled with some. Others we ran off with loud shouts. I remember Mama firing the shotgun at two strays once. They tucked their tails and ran. 

You might think we should have taken them to the ASPCA. We’d never heard of that organization, and there was no pet shelter in our county. You had to take care of the strays on your own.

When I lived in rural Kentucky, a stray dog came up to our house. Under the influence of my wife, I had grown more tenderhearted and put out some food for him. He ate. He slept that night on the carport. He hung around one more day, but the next day, he was dead. My vet friend thought it was distemper. 

Dumping dogs is still a problem. Our ranch foreman in Florida called me not too long ago to tell me a pack of wild dogs attacked one of our cows and chewed its ears off. A neighbor saw what was happening and fired a shot. Frightened, the dogs ran away, and the cow lived. The pack of wild dogs was probably a group of strays that banded together, scavenged food wherever they could, and reverted to ancient ways of hunting as a pack.

Last time I was down in Florida, a stray that looked like a cross between a dachshund and a terrier followed me while I was walking. He looked fed and well cared for. I thought he must belong to a neighbor up the road. He showed up the next day. I began to suspect someone had dumped him. The women of the family put something out for him to eat and worried what would happen when we weren’t there to feed him. I tried to explain that there was nothing we could do and was grateful we had flown and there was no way to bring him home.

A friend lives near my pasture. He recently got a message to me that a stray bull mastiff had killed his cat. He warned me in case he started to attack my calves. I guess someone turned him out because he got too big or was costing too much to feed.

My current dog, Rags, does not scavenge for food. He eats pretty good dog food, usually flavored with bacon. I have precooked it for my own breakfast. He has his own bed but likes to sleep on a bigger bed with two adults in it. He is very insistent that he be petted, walked, and loved. He is deeply cared for.

I think about our Heavenly Father. He looks at all of us who are unwanted, and it moves his heart. He sees us who have been cast out and rejected. He knows being unwanted makes some people turn wild and destructive. Some people who are unwanted try to find a home. Some people follow anyone who will show them some care and love.

Our Heavenly Father, out of his great love, sent his son Jesus to die for the unwanted, the rejected, and the lonely so they could be adopted into his family. Jesus’ resurrection is the proof he has the power to include us. We are welcomed into our Heavenly Father’s family, to be loved and cherished, to be called his own children.

An old friend told me he didn’t believe in reincarnation, but if he did, he would want to come back as an old lady’s lap dog. I asked him why. He said he thought it would be the closest thing to heaven, just to be loved and cherished.

I don’t want to come back as a dog. But I am looking forward to a forever experience of my Heavenly Father’s love, grace, forgiveness, peace, and joy.

PS: To quote the late Bob Barker, “Don’t forget to have your pets spayed and neutered.”