chasing squirrels

Among the many new things in this married Texas life – besides location, church community, running routes, and climate…has been the addition of Charlie Dog.

That's him in the picture to the right. He's just treed a squirrel and he's very proud.

Loud and proud.

Charlie began as a gift to one of the Price kids and has been the family mascot for about eight years. With all of the kids, grandkids, and job/life demands, Charlie hasn't had a whole lot of training. 

He likes to yip. And whine. And bark. 

A lot.

I have a low tolerance for that sort of stuff perhaps because one whiner in the house is enough and I've got that covered. I don't need the competition.

After consulting with friends who are dog whisperer-types, reading up on dog training on the internet, and trying a few short cuts (buzz! buzz! buzz!) that failed miserably (and made me feel guilty), I finally prayed for wisdom and compassion.

It was clear that I needed to observe Charlie and ask for patience.

Initially, Charlie Dog was in charge of a lot. He had convinced folks that he would neither eat nor poo without an audience…I don't think so, pup.

He wanted the door open at all times when he was outside – even in the Houston version of "winter" – or he'd yip, whine, and bark. He wanted it his way or the rest of us would pay.

If he wasn't allowed inside, he'd tunnel out from under the fence and escape – barking "Born Free" all over the neighborhood.

Each morning from his kennel, he delighted in barking up the sun until he had a human audience. Bark Bark Bark. Yip yip yip. Bark Bark.

It occurred to me that this was a lot like raising a toddler who has yet to accumulate understanding. A toddler who thinks that tossing a fit and raging will get them what they want: ice cream cone, toy, running chain saw, chance to play in the middle of the highway…

So we've been working on giving Charming Charlie routines, a chance to run and play; and a determination to not respond when he barks or licks the glass door or hops up on the window ledges to bark, yip, whine, and look pitiful. 

He is a stubborn dog.

He's met his match.

And this morning as I swung in the hammock under pre-dawn skies and he happily ran circles around the yard, I had a realization:

Charlie Dog is so insecure that he yips and whines and barks while he's outside away from the line of sight of his crew…his humans.

He's so consumed with what he thinks he's entitled to have that he's missing out on what he really wants – to chase squirrels, bark at birds, and lounge in the sunshine. 

He's wasting time whining instead of doing what makes him happy and (in his little doggie mind) productive – protecting the perimeter of the yard from the evil squirrel horde.

And here is the zinger:  There is a situation in my life that causes me great – real pain and anxiety that causes me Charlie-like panic.

I didn't ask for it, nor cultivated it, nor have I poked a stick into it to root around and make it worse. I've prayed and worked really hard to be loving and to make my part of this thing better – a hope for a connection of compassion and love.

It's like living among active fire ant nests – you wake up groggy and stumble upon a new nest in the dark and without warning, you end up stung, sore, and sick. And all you wanted was to go to the loo. 

The whole lingering painful situation has made me a bit like Charlie Dog – yip yip yip. Bark Bark Bark. whiiiiine. BARK.

The pain and anxiety are real, but I don't need to be ruled by it or by fear. I need to trust that God is working in the folks who can make inroads into this situation and that he's working in me.

Yesterday morning, I read this Psalm in the Message and it hit me between the eyes after another fire ant attack on my peace and heart. Special ouch came from 21-24 which I've highlighted below.

Psalm 73: 11-24  (the Message)