Rowdy is my adopted monster mutt. We inherited him. I wrote about him a few years ago when he had to have one of his front legs amputated (/link). He is six years old and thinks he was born three weeks ago. He doesn't seem to realize he only has three legs. He chases skunks, armadillos, coyotes, other dogs and cats. He roots out giant moles and truly believes he is protecting us from all harm. When he is not chasing varmits, he believes that his "space" in life is lying smack dab in front of my daughter's front door. He can be the most annoying, aggravating knot-on-a-log you ever had to deal with. It's nearly impossible to get in or out of the house, because he weighs 85-plus pounds (ten of which is his stubborn head). Most every ounce of him is solid muscle. You have to push the door with all your might to slide his wad of sinew, bone and muscle out of the way. Depending on his mood, he may or may not raise his head to see who is shoving against him. When he does look up at me, he wags the stub of a tail and stares at me with yellow eyes that seem to smile and say, "I'm sorry, I'm just so comfy lying here in front of the door."
His bark is a lion-size bellowing roar. For anyone who does not know him, Rowdy is a formidable force to reckon with. UPS men shudder. Strangers stay in their cars. Rowdy doesn't realize how big and threatening he is. He still thinks he is a puppy (I don't think he ever yapped), only bellowed.
Last week we had a humongous bonfire. It was made up of piles of fencing, various chunks and slabs of leftover wood, and carboard boxes. It spread out about 40 feet round and 8 feet high. As I sat on the front porch of the new construction which we hope to soon call "home", I stared as blue, green, red, orange, and white flames lapped the evening air. It was mesmerizing as we watched dust-devils twirl from the midst. My grandchildren pulled a wagon and played with the neighbors in front of its brilliant light. Several adults monitored its flames. Rowdy lumbered out from behind a scaffold on the porch and settled down on top of my feet. What a great footwarmer. I had almost forgotten how much I love him. He often lay at my feet when I visited my daughter. At times he was a great footstool. He's such a nuisance that I've really failed to give him the love and attention he deserves.
For so very long he's been with my daughter out in the country. She's cared for him since my son died on Mother's Day 2005. He makes it particularly difficult to carry in a casserole, or giant fruit salad to add to our family dinner on Sundays. It takes two of us to get inside the door when one is struggling to balance a bowl or hot casserole. Can't count the times he got up and shook all over following a romp in the mud-pond. His muck flies all over Sunday clothes. He doesn't like to be disturbed. I've often wondered if he is thinking "Take that!" when he gets up, shakes, stretches, then plops back down.
I've been particularly melancholy lately. Yet, as I stared at that bonfire, and listened to my grandchildren giggle in the distance, I felt the comforting presence of Rowdy's 85-pounds at my feet. Warmth seemed to fill me from the inside out. I felt loved.
I wondered if God feels this way with me at times. I can be such a nuisance. Stubborn. I get in the way as He's trying to move and bring blessings through the front door of my heart. I don't like to be disturbed when I settle in and get comfortable. But when I get quiet and settle in at His feet, do I give Him a similar warmth of pleasure? I think so, don't you? selahV
For a wonderful way to provide comfort to someone, you might be interested in this program: Angel On A Leash