How my dogs drive me nuts, and save my sanity.

I often think when I walk my dogs in the mornings – or when a tradesman comes to my door – that people must think me insane: “How on earth does that poor woman put up with those dogs?”

I say this because, on initial contact, my dogs are unbelievably loud.  A confusing combination of fierce barking and fiercely wagging tails that continues for several minutes.  They travel in a pack and approach everyone and everything as though  (wherever we happen to be) it all exclusively belongs to them.

Visitors to the house get assaulted by love on entry.  The dogs offer every bone going and, since I am an indulgent mother, climb along the backs of sofa cushions while we’re trying to chat to see if anyone is interested in being kissed.

Fortunately they are somewhat disarming to look at. Bobo is the eldest at almost 7 and looks and behaves like a miniature Labrador.  He is in fact a cross between a Pincher and a Chihuahua. In Bobo’s mind, I am exclusively his and being as close to my face as possible at all times is his life goal.

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The smallest, Lucy Bella, looks more like a character out of Beatrix Potter than a real dog.  She could easily be mistaken for a meerkat.  Being tiny, she is the one who barks the loudest and the longest out of sheer determination (I am sure) not to be mistaken for a snack.  We carry her round the house like a baby.  Which she allows.

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And then there’s Owen. Owen is a cross between a Beagle, a Pointer and a large, plush toy from Hamleys.  Almost 3 years old and four times as large as the other two, he considers himself to be the same size.  This can be challenging when it comes to pillows or lying behind your head along the top of a sofa.

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Sure, the dogs can drive me absolutely batty at times: the mud, the shredded shoes, ham off the counter, stepping on a bone with one’s bare feet, the occasional accident, noise.  However, their noisy, boisterous meet and greets account for less than 10% of their daily life.  For the other 90%, they fulfil the function of extra siblings, playmates, cuddlers, blankets, companions, entertainment, and sanity savers. They are just fantastic company. And since one dog day equals 59 human days they also, understandably, spend much of their time asleep.

They are possibly the most expensive dogs in England after I shipped them Canine First (/Only) Class from Los Angeles after we unexpectedly moved here in 2016.  There was never a question in my mind that they should join us. We had lost so much already, I was not prepared to lose them as well. We had all been apart for almost three months when they stumbled bemusedly through customs at Heathrow after their flight and the kids and I fell on them as if they brought a lifesaving elixir in a barrel on their collars.

Which metaphorically they did.  In the midst of so much stress and strain and grief, the dogs are exclusively ours, and provide an unrelenting constant of upbuilding love and comfort. The dogs are our home and, unequivocally, on our side.

As a single mum navigating a houseful of teenagers, Bobes, Lucy B and Benowen by contrast think I’m a superstar and are unfailingly thrilled to see me.  Even if I’ve only been out for five minutes.  This is hugely supportive even when I’m struggling with seven bags of shopping and trying to squeeze in through the front door.  They are my faithful companions.

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Dogs bring balance.  It can never again just be about the kids or about you.  Taking the dogs for a daily walk for the dogs’ sake mystically brings my own life into balance. I am blessed to be outside in nature with a purpose.  And dogs don’t forget.  They hold no truck with whatever else may be going on, a walk’s a walk for goodness sake!

Dogs train you to colour outside the lines simply because they lead you straight over them.  The best laid plans come unstuck with mud, or wet, or a chewed shoe, or – God forbid – a lost dog.  They teach us to dwell in the messiness of life, not try to cover it or recover from it. My house is far from immaculate because of the dogs and yet, because of the dogs, it is so much more a haven of hugs and home.

In my experience, dogs enlarge the place of your tent.  You’re a bigger party, a broader concern. It’s no longer just you guys facing the world on your own, you have by your side huge fans cheering you on everywhere you go and every step you take.  Dogs, without fail, are loyal.

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And dogs keep you humble.  Have you ever had the worst behaved toddler at a birthday party?  That’s my daily dog walk.  “I AM so sorry!!” I cry throughout various parts of Surrey, shovelling charm on with a spade to allay alarm. “They’re completely harmless! Just loud…”  My three bark and wag and bounce back to me with looks of sheer glee at what they’ve accomplished.  They only do it in a pack — out individually I suspect they’d stick close to my heels and barely make a peep.  Little stinkers.

So yes of course, I have my moments of wondering, “How did I end up with three? What in the world was I thinking??” But then I look in those faces and get down on the floor for a cuddle.

And the world seems bearable again.

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jsg/march 18

Like Snow.

“Come now, and let us reason together,” says the Lord,

“Though your sins are like scarlet,

They shall be as white as snow.

You’ve gotta love the Lord.  This is one of my favourite verses in the whole bible. It is God letting me know that it’s OK for me to speak up.  To say, on occasion, a respectful but deeply heartfelt WTF.  To make my case, to disagree, to shout and stamp and scream and rage.  To give my opinion (He can take it).

It’s been snowing here again.  Unusual for us in the UK. We’ve had a spectacular 2 inches where we are and, even with that and as snow does, it transforms everything.

The quality of light is different through the curtains when you wake up to it.  It is brighter, whiter, clearer, stronger.

Where the day before was bare branches and mud and stones and life writ drear, SNOW has transformed it all into something extraordinary.  Something beautiful. It has covered everything completely.  Changed the shape of things, softened sound.

Views we know like the back of our hand are suddenly new.  Newly known, newly seen adorned in white. Different. Our daily walk doesn’t feel like an everyday activity.  It’s new, and you gasp at the loveliness of it.  The way the light glances off the snow creating new patterns, new vistas, new angles, new shapes. Everything is the same yet snow has completely transformed it.  I cannot see, feel or hear things in the same way.

And this is what God says He does with my sin.  He takes all that is bloody and bleak and self-serving and wounded and wilful and – when I ask Him – He blankets it with white. He forgives me.

His covering has transformed me and continues to transform me into someone new. Truly me, and newly me.

Unlike natural snow, this supernatural blanketing of purity and newness does not melt away either.  It’s eternal.

Walking through the woods this morning, I was breath taken. Awe-struck at what snow can do.  How it changes everything so utterly.  So masterfully.  So purely.  How it catches us off guard with its power to create beauty out of absolutely everything.

Now if I can just remember that about myself, and about others too. God can do it.

We can all be changed.

And in the twinkling of an eye.

jsg/march 18