Canon.

As you'll notice, he wasn't exactly the best behaved of dogs...

Two and a half years ago, I "rescued" a puppy from a shelter in Philadelphia. I went to some of the shelters looking for an older dog - knowing that I worked strange hours as a priest. I wasn't convinced I had the time to raise a puppy. At the shelter, though, there was a mix-up. Instead of the senior dog I was supposed to meet, two puppies ran into the room. One of them, black and white, and spotted all over - jumped up into my lap and rolled over. From that moment on, he was my guy. I put in an application later that afternoon to take him home.

I thought about a whole bunch of nerdy church names - and after some consultation with equally nerdy church folks, I settled on Canon. He was half lab, half cattle dog (blue heeler). This made him hyper, social, and bossy. He was also terribly clumsy, anxiety-prone, protective of his pack, and so very sweet. In particular, I loved that even after he had grown up, one of his ears would still stick up like a cattle dog every time he heard a sound he couldn't place. That dog was a piece of work. And I adored him.

He taught me something precious about unconditional love - and I was sure very shortly into our life together that God had created this goofy, ridiculous, loving dog just for me. He went to the church with me most days in Philadelphia - and managed to make friends with dogs and people alike. He eventually came to deeply love my wife - and her dog, his elder of a few years - a miniature Schnauzer named Winston.

A few weeks ago, I noticed that Canon had stopped eating. And it looked like he had lost some weight. So, I took him to the vet. The very next morning, they called to say that we needed to check him into the hospital. Within the course of two weeks, we went from believing that we had a healthy dog - to losing him last week. As best we can tell, it's likely that he was born with some kind of degenerative kidney disease - it's likely that he was always sick. And his numbers kept creeping up throughout his short life - even as he learned how to live with the discomfort. Even at the end of his life, when he wasn't able to eat, and he was feeling very sick, he continued to wag his tail for me and for Lyn - wanting to cuddle and love us.

It may be a strange thing to say, but I hadn't really ever given much thought to what happens to these animals when we die. We had a family dog when I was a child who was very special to me, but he died years ago when I was in high school. Upset as I was at the time, I was sort of just willing to go along with the "all dogs go to heaven" idea. Now, though, it's something that I'm thinking about a lot.

I don't have much of a theory for this one yet - but I am convinced that our God is a God of love. Our God loves fiercely - and tenderly - and passionately (as we see in great detail in this week in particular). I find it hard to believe that this God, who risks so much for the sake of love, wouldn't honor the kind of true, unconditional love shared between a dog and his or her person in some way, finding a place for that love in the larger picture. If all love comes from God, and it is indeed love that we share with these precious creatures, as I believe it is, then I cannot help but believe that God has woven together something wonderful and meaningful for our beloved friends - be they furry, four-pawed, with funny ears - or not. 

So here's to the hope of eternal friends - who pull out the stuffing of pillows and steal big blocks of cheddar off the counter. I hope he's off running on the beach in heaven and eating lots of chicken- or maybe even bacon, because he probably doesn't have to worry about his health up there. And someday, I hope his big spotted ear will stand straight up again when he hears me calling.

---