Lennie

And as I knelt beside a brook

To drink eternal life, I took

A glance across the golden grass,

And saw my dog, old Blacky, fast

As she could come. She leaped the stream---

Almost--- and what a happy gleam

Was in her eye. I knelt to drink,

And knew that I was on the brink

                        Of endless joy - John Piper, Glorified, 

                                                                                                          

There are dog owners and dog lovers. I used to be the former, and a really bad one at that.

I got rid of Tilly when I came home one day, walked into the living room and saw her, ears back and what looked like someone had come in and spilled a bucket of brown paint all over my one week-old carpet. I shamefully admit I was a disinterested, lazy and occasionally abusive dog owner. That was Raul 1.0.

A year or so later, about a month into my new and constant battle with panic disorder, I approached Tara and the kids about getting a puppy. I told them I was ashamed to bring it up given my “criminal” record, but I was weary of sitting home alone all day with nothing to do but agonize over two questions -

“WHAT IN THE WORLD IS HAPPENING TO ME?!”

and

“HOW DO I MAKE IT STOP?!”

I needed something to do because there is such a thing as being in one’s head too much. Surprisingly, they agreed to it and, one week later and a visit to a kennel*, we came back with Lennie: half bichon frise, half boston terrier and all chicken. I named him after Jerry Orbach’s character on Law & Order - Detective Lennie Briscoe. Yes, I watched a lot of L&O back then.

From the start, I was determined to “do it right”. With high hopes of atoning for past sins, I became a Cesar Millan groupie. Early on, my heart felt different and somehow I knew Lennie would play a role in my healing. It’s hard to explain. I became a Lennie Lover and soon my family started referring to me as his Mother. He’d whine incessantly when I wasn’t around and rarely obeyed anyone else. I taught him to sit and lay down. Half a dozen times he’s caught a frisbee, but I’m convinced they’ve all been by accident. I frequently walked him off leash when no one was around. He’d pee on everything within a 20 yard radius and, once out of his system, he’d walk next to me. Then I would read aloud from the Psalms - my camping spot of choice at the time - and I’m convinced he knows more Scripture than any dog I know and certainly more than cats. I sing hymns to him, staying true to the melody but replacing all the lyrics with the words “Lennie Puppy” in a way I’m sure makes Saint Augustine smile. All twenty-seven pounds of him barks at every little noise he hears outside (I’m no Caesar) but I try to remind myself he’s just protecting his Mother. He’s seven years old now - the equivalence of forty-nine human years according to Lorne Greene - which makes him only two years older than me except he has the energy of a teenager. He needs braces but we can’t afford it.

Lennie reminds me I worship and serve a God of second chances and that I can feel His love through fur and slobber. He brings out kindness and tenderness in me. And, yes, I believe he and Blacky will run the Streets of Gold together someday. And John Piper and I will visit.

This is Raul 2.0.

PS   Lennie's on Facebook. You can request him as a friend here.
PPS Lydia wrote a profile about him that can be read here.

*Shortly after we got Lennie, Prairie Bark Kennel turned out to be a puppy mill. It was investigated by 9News and consequently shut down. I like to think we rescued him.