ALL THESE ANIMALS AT THE MANGER BUT WHERE IS THE DOG?
I have always wondered why nobody ever thought of including a dog
among the animals at the manger. Sheep, goats, cows, camels, yes --
but never a dog. Yet it's a dog that is man's best friend, not a sheep.
So to make up for that, I'll tell you about a Christmas 22 years ago
that brought a dog named Bear into my life.
My teen-age son had bought Bear as a surprise Christmas present for
Mom and Dad. He had paid for him with his own money, four months
of a busboy's salary -- a Newfoundland puppy doesn't come cheap. He
and his cousin carried him inside in a big box, covered with red and
green paper, the sides drilled with air holes. After the kids put
down the box, the puppy pushed up the lid, got out, went to the
Christmas tree and peed on its red tree skirt. So much for my first
meeting with Bear.
From then on things got worse. His neurotic tendencies became
quickly apparent. On walks, he'd suddenly flip himself on his back,
legs waving in the air, making a fool of me. He wouldn't cross
corners with stop signs, howled when he smelled an open drain ("it's
the wolf's grease," the plumber explained mysteriously), and refused
to relieve himself in the rain -- I don't know why; he was supposed
to be a water dog.
My wife believed in him though. She bought books with titles like
"Know your Newfoundland," or "Heroes of the North," books with
impossible stories -- outright lies, I thought. Newfies -- as their
fans called them -- were exceedingly smart, the books said. Not
only did they catch fish but, on hot days, they'd put the catch in the
shade to prevent spoiling. Newfies were brave, of course. They
rescued sailors who fell overboard. More likely, the sailors went
down screaming and gurgling with a 150 pound dog around their
neck, was my opinion, but I kept my thoughts to myself.
After a while, Bear's neuroses got out of hand and we took him to
obedience school. Within three months after graduating, he had
forgotten all he had learned and so had I. But something in our
relationship had changed. Little by little, we began to understand
each other. I let him sniff fire hydrants and lamp posts, chase
squirrels up trees and bark his head off on car rides. In return he
would look at me admiringly when I explained my great ideas to him,
and put his big head in my lap when I was feeling down. He was a dog
and I was Homo Sapiens, but love had erased the difference.
Now you'll understand why I feel there should be a dog at the manger.
At Random - Adrian Korpel
