Our dog, Poochie, has a curious quirk when he wants to go out. He will sometimes go to where the leash is and sit by it, but he won’t face the door. Typically, I’ll snap the leash on, walk to the door, and from there call him to follow. But he’ll remain where he is, and won’t move until I go back to him, and prompt him, enthusiastically, “Come on! Let’s go!”
When he did this yesterday, I was struck by an intriguing thought – it’s as if he is saying, “I can’t come to you; can you come with me?” And what was really inspiring about this was my immediate realization that I have seen this same behavior in small children. Pooch is forever reminding me of what his trainer once said: our dogs will always be like two-year-olds.
Now, you need to understand one thing about this particular pooch: he’s a chicken sh!t, timid, all-bark-no-bite, sixty-pound-wanna-be-lap-dog, scaredy-cat (we have four kitties). He hates rain, and sometimes will hold it rather than go out in it. In the big outside, some smells and strange, loud noises are terrifying. Have you ever seen a tucked tail, speed-‘crawling’ for the door because of something so frightening?
He really makes me think back to when I was growing up, and there were things I was wary of because they were big and new and unknown. And that matches up with what I see in those wee kids.
Come to me all of you who are tired from the heavy burden you have been forced to carry. I will give you rest.
Sure, I’m a grown man now, but am I that much different than this beloved animal who is part of our family? God calls me to come to him. There are times when I am afraid, and cry out, “Will you come with me?”