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To paraphrase the lyrics
from an old song, “How can you keep him down on the farm after he’s
been on TV?” We’re all supposed to be entitled to fifteen minutes of
fame, however we define fame. Albert had about five minutes, maybe less,
perhaps fitting for a dog. But given the way many have used their fifteen
minutes, think Jerry Springer, Albert probably deserved at least an
hour’s worth, maybe more. His animal friends, I suspect, would agree.
St. Francis certainly would.
St. Francis had a special devotion to all of God’s creation,
especially animals. He understood what only animal lovers understand, what
a recent “Family Circus” cartoon clearly and astutely observed.
Grandma was holding her little dog in her arms who was in the process of
giving her doggie kisses. Grandma said, “To err is human; to forgive is
canine.” And isn’t that the truth?
I don’t know about cats and rats and elephants, but I do know
about Albert. He always forgives. And he loves unconditionally. That may
be canine; it is also divine. Maybe it truly is something of Providence
that “dog” is “God” spelled backwards. To act like a canine is to
act like the Divine, to be Godly. To be Godly means to forgive as God
forgives: always, unconditionally; no questions asked and no punishment
demanded, just bend down or pick me up and let me give you a kiss. All is
forgiven.
Albert did not need to be on television to become a star. He
already was and is one, not in the Jerry Springer sense, but in the real
sense of a heavenly being. To encounter Albert, to encounter any creature
of God, is to encounter God, to encounter the divine, the heavenly and all
that that means. It probably means more than we think because we tend to
think of pets as somehow inferior and thus missing something.
Perhaps that is why we bring our pets to be blessed. Perhaps in
doing so we err, as Grandma says. Perhaps, as humans, we have it all
backwards. Perhaps it is our pets who have it right. Perhaps it is our
pets who should bring us to be blessed so that we will receive whatever of
God we need to become more like them, more Godly. Perhaps we need to
remember and realize what our pets already seem to sense, that we already
are creatures of God and need to act more like creatures of God than we
now do.
Albert is not a star although I do think he is special. But, then,
he thinks I am special too. Our pets do think we are special. Why do we
think they are so affectionate? It is not because we spoil them. They love
us anyway, treats or no treats. A postcard Katy Lee sent me recently, one
that truly speaks the truth, reminded me about this. It is a prayer that
asks, “Lord, help me become the person my dog thinks I am.” Our pets
think we are better than we really are. Or perhaps they know we can be
better than we happen to be at this time. May our stars shine as brightly
as those of our pets.
WJP
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