Lessons I Learned From My Dog, Part 1

'I have an extraordinary dog. Yeah, I know everybody says that about their dog, but in the case of Moose, it is a verifiable, empirical fact.

It's not just his good looks, which are obvious, nor his many talents, like being able to retrieve a ball hurled 100 yards down a mountainside into a laurel thicket, which is still pretty amazing. Nor is it his friendly and easygoing manner.

What sets Moose apart as a dog is that he is my teacher. I guess this makes this sort of a "man bites dog" story, to use one of the well-worn expressions I learned in journalism school, because we normally think of the teaching going only one way in the human-dog relationship.

What sets Moose apart as a teacher is that he has taught me volumes about God and about life. I cannot look at him without seeing the Divine Spark in his bright eyes and wagging tail, indeed in his whole philosophy of life.

Moose's philosophy of life is based on one thing: joy. Joy is not the same thing as happiness, though the two frequently coexist in Moose. As Henri Nouwen put it: "Joy is an experience of knowing that you are unconditionally loved and that nothing -- sickness, failure, emotional distress, oppression, war, or even death -- can take that love away....We can be unhappy about many things, but joy can still be there because it comes from the knowledge of God's love for us."

I love Moose unconditionally, which he knows down deep in his bones. He knows I love him even when he pulls a stunt like he did last night. Pat and I went to play tennis last night, and when we're both gone we debate whether to put him in his kennel in the garage or leave him in the house. The garage is cold right now, so I left him in the house.

Unfortunately I did not close the door to my office and all the bathrooms as I normally do. So when we got back, I went up to my office only to hear Pat call me, "Rob, you've got to come see what Moose did." There in our bathroom, Moose had taken an entire, brand-new roll of toilet paper off the dispenser. Based on the available forensic evidence, he then systematically shredded the entire roll and apparently consumed at least half of it. I know this a) because it was gone, and b) because I find his papier mache deposits out in the yard.

You see Moose is hopelessly addicted to paper, and we had acted as enablers. Sometimes I get upset about this stuff, but more often now I just laugh. He can't help himself, and I can't help loving him.

I think Moose also knows God loves him unconditionally, and that is the ultimate source of his joy. That kind of joy empowers you to engage life with the throttle wide open, drinking in every relationship and experience like the finest wine. I've learned a lot about this kind of joy from watching and studying him over the last six years.

Nowhere is this joy more apparent than when he plays ball. He lights up when I get the ball out -- the very appearance of his face changes and his body becomes alert and focused. He locks in like a laser on the ball right up until it's thrown, flung, hit or shot downrange and then he's off like a bolt of lightning. He gauges the range and general direction visually then locates the ball by smell.

As he's searching his joy is palpable. His big otter tail (a lethal weapon) spins like a helicopter rotor, something it only does when he's retrieving. He has a big ol' grin on his face and is full of a manic energy and focus that can only be satisfied by finding that ball. And when he does find it, he gallops back to me with his ears back and an even bigger grin, fairly oozing the pure joy of being outside, of running with the wind in your face. He is totally and completely immersed in the here and now, the present moment. It's infectious.

I rarely felt that kind of joy until I met Moose. But I am convinced that he is a personal gift from God to me, sent to teach me something important about how to live my life. He and I love each other unconditionally, but more importantly he has taught me, time and again, just how deeply and unconditionally God loves me, just like God loves Moose.

Happy 7th Birthday, Moose!

P.S. Thank you Lisa for helping bring Moose into my life six years ago!