Christian Living

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There is no doubt that dog owners are often guilty of trying to make their pet into something they were never designed to be. And I was no different. I had already envisioned Max heroically rescuing my son from perils in the water. After all, these dogs could swim like a fish. And God even gave them webbing between their toes to assist them. Therefore, I just assumed that rescuing comes naturally for all Labradors.

So at a lake one summer, I set about to prove to my wife that Max had what it took to be a rescue dog. After all, who needs a life jacket when you've got "Super-pooch" on hand? Though for my wife's peace of mind, I did keep the life vest on my son while I told Max to pull him to shore.

Max grabbed onto the life jacket easy enough, but continued to ingest water as he tried to swim. So I tried another idea. I put the walking harness on Max and had my son grab onto it. That seemed to work much better. Now Max's mouth was free and he could point his head towards shore. I walked beside Max in the water as he pulled my boy along. However, this short demonstration did nothing to sway my wife or my son to give up their life jackets.

So I thought it would be more convincing if my wife and boy could see Max rescuing me. With my snorkel and mask, I went out into the deep part of the lake and called Max. When he reached me, he just wanted to climb up on top of me. Hence he would have successfully drowned me had I really been in trouble. But I was his friend and he just wanted to say "hi."

I finally got Max to head towards shore while I hung onto his harness like dead weight. It was definitely slow going for him to pull 180 pounds through the water. I constantly had to keep reminding him to stay on course because he wanted to play. It was then I realized that Max was not a "Super-dog." He had a big heart to do whatever I asked him to do but not necessarily the understanding. It was somewhat humbling to tell my son, "Perhaps wearing a life jacket is not a bad idea after all."

Now to the battle with Bear. Not only did I want Max to be a rescue dog, but I also wanted him to be the toughest dog around. I wanted all the bully dogs in the neighborhood to know—YOU DON'T MESS WITH MAX. There was one such dog called Bear. He lived a few houses away across the street and he was mean. The owners kept him on a chain and I think it drove him mad. Every time I walked Max by his place, Bear would go nuts—just itching for a fight. Yet, for some reason, Bear's aggressiveness provoked something in me. I was now itching for a fight—to prove that "My dog's tougher than your dog."

I was determined to take our walks near Bear's house just to provoke him. I was hoping that one day Bear would get loose, and the "REAL TOP DOG" in the neighborhood would finally be revealed. Well, it happened one evening. Bear was inside the front porch of his house jumping against the window of the door and broke through. Immediately, I released Max off his leash. The hour of reckoning had arrived. "It's time to put this dog in his place," I thought. Bear came up to Max and stood nose to nose. Bear was smaller in size and stature, but he had a wicked look in his eye.

In an instant, Bear and Max went at it. And for all the vicious display of Bear's fighting, he was no match against the brawnier Max. I was like a blood thirsty spectator waiting for Max to move in for the kill. Then the lady owner of Bear came out of the house, yelling for her dog to come. She wanted to go in to break it up, but I said, "Let them be. One dog will prove to be dominant and the other will submit." But in my heart, I wanted Max to kill her dog.

Finally, Max pinned Bear against a parked car and had him by the throat. All I could think of was "Kill him, Max, Kill him!" But Max didn't kill him. He did something contrary to what I expected of him. As Bear lay there on his back, completely at the mercy of my dog, Max released his grip around Bear's throat and stepped off of him. You see Max didn't have a killer instinct—I did. And my Labrador did what I wasn't willing to do—show mercy.

Under normal circumstances, when a dog has been pinned down on his back by a stronger dog who has him by the throat, that dog will submit and leave with his tail between his legs. But Bear was not a normal dog. Suddenly he sprang onto Max with viciousness and the two went at it again. The lady owner cried out, "I've had enough of this!" She went in and grabbed Bear while I grabbed Max.

We had them apart for a split second when Bear suddenly lunged again for Max but instead caught my knee with his fangs, slashing it open. I instantly began kicking Bear like a madman. I wanted to finish off what Max wasn't willing to do. The woman quickly got a hold of her dog and took him into the house while I returned to mine.

As I already alluded to, the hour of reckoning had arrived and that dog really was put in his place—not Bear—ME. Max's merciful nature revealed just how unmerciful and ugly my nature really was. I had been humbled again by my own dog. Max showed mercy—I wanted judgment. "For judgment is without mercy to the one who has shown no mercy. Mercy triumphs over judgment" (James 2:13). And the slash on my leg was a painful reminder of where I had erred.

With great shame to myself, I need to confess the following incident. I had decided if Max was going to hunt with me, he would need to get used to the sound of a gun discharging. So I took him and my magnum rifle out with me to do some target practice. I got Max to sit close by while I wore ear protectors. At the first sound of the gun firing, Max bolted in fear. I called him back to the same position and fired another round. Poor Max fled again with his tail between his legs. "Cowardly dog," I muttered. I was so ashamed of my dog's fear that I put him in the back of the van, commanding him to stay put.

However, after I took the next shot, I noticed Max was sitting in the front seat of our new van. "What's wrong with that dog?" I went over and rebuked Max, ordering him to the back of the van and commanding him to stay. I went to fire another round with the high-powered rifle. Instantly, Max bolted to the front seat. I became incensed. Like the insane Balaam who beat on his donkey unfairly, I struck Max in my anger. The poor dog just cowered, not understanding why his master would punish him just because he was afraid of the ear-piercing sound of gun fire.

I went back to my shooting, but my conscience smote me. I had just mistreated my very best friend. Max never bared his teeth at me once during this time nor did he speak like Balaam's donkey did. But Max's silent submission at the hands of his wicked master spoke so loud to me that I knew I had done evil in God's sight. And just as Jesus was silent before his persecutors and opened not His mouth, so Max was silent before me. I returned to the van to ask for Max's forgiveness, and as always, his big heart forgave me. But I will carry this painful memory for the rest of my life. Again, I had been humbled by my dog.

Max's submissive nature had taught me just how un-submissive mine was. I wanted to rule—to be the boss—to call the shots. Yet interestingly, Jesus said, "Yet it shall not be so among you; but whoever desires to become great among you, let him be your servant" (Matthew 20:26). This brings me to the next story.

Luke was now quite elderly, so my wife wanted to get another dog. She decided on a shepherd pup whom she named Chief. From the moment we brought Chief home, it was evident that he wanted to be "top dog." Whenever Chief would cross the line, Luke, the alpha dog, would snarl at him. And little Chief would bark right back at him as if challenging his authority.

I just assumed Max, who was now four years old, would take over the alpha position when Luke was gone. I assumed wrong—again. Max had no desire to be "top dog." He had a servant's heart, and unlike Chief's nature, he did not have secret ambitions to pull off a coup d'etat. It bothered me to no end to watch my more powerful Labrador submit and let that pigheaded German Shepherd take over as alpha dog. In my mind, the strongest dog should rule, and Max was by far the stronger of the two.

Not only did Chief take over as alpha dog, but he also had ambitions to take over the house as well. We caught him twice lying on the couch and once on our bed. And he would snarl when ordered off. The final straw came when he lay down by our bed one evening and refused to budge. He was definitely challenging my authority of who ruled the house. I put him downstairs in the midst of his threatening growls and seriously thought about getting rid of him right on the spot. But Chief had become my wife's dog and touching him would have been a no-no.

The German Shepherd was so oppressive to Max that my Lab would often look to me to intervene on his behalf. And I did many times. "Chief—leave him alone," I commanded in a voice that meant business. Poor Max did not even have the liberty to leave a room when Chief was present—the Shepherd was a ruthless dictator.

It is in this background that I present the next story. My son and I were walking the two dogs one evening. I was leading Chief while my boy was walking ahead of us with Max. We were very near home, when Chief suddenly broke from me and went charging past a bush into a yard where there was huge Alaskan Malamute dog on a chain. Chief's ill-proportioned body with his long spaghetti legs made him a useless match against most dogs, let alone this giant. Within seconds, Chief was yelping in pain as the Malamute tore into him.

Then Max did something again unexpectedly. He suddenly pulled away from my son and charged the Malamute. With lightning speed, Max head-butted the dog in the midsection, knocking him right off his feet. The dog seemed stunned momentarily, not knowing what hit him. This allowed time for Chief to escape. I called Max out immediately.

Yet this incident baffled me. What would cause Max to risk his own neck to rescue an ungrateful dog like Chief, who had made his life so miserable? Max's sense of loyalty even to an oppressive alpha dog like Chief amazed me. "Servants, be submissive to your masters with all fear, not only to the good and gentle, but also to the harsh. For this is commendable, if because of conscience toward God, one endures grief, suffering wrongfully" (1 Peter 2:18-19).

I had been humbled again by my own dog. Max's submissive attitude, even to his unfair boss (Chief), exposed how rebellious my attitude was to the authorities that were placed over me—my unfair employer being one of them. There were lessons to be learned and it seems God was using my dog to do the teaching. However, it was only later that I realized Max's true value—stay tuned.


Blessings in Christ Jesus,
Paul Janz

(All Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New King James Version.)

"MAX, My Beloved Friend (Part 2) Lessons Learned" Copyright © 2010 by Paul Janz.

Paul Janz is a mature aspiring author whose writings are based on personal experiences and issues that the Lord has laid on his heart. His wit, humor, maturity, and ability to tell a good story make him an ideal writer for any Christian magazine.

Contact him directly through his website: Heaven Inspired Movies

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