Christian Living
Three years and seven months went by before we exchanged vows. October of 2014, marked the beginning of a new season in my life. I had gone through many years of dry, parched Summers. Falls, where I felt buried by the circumstances. Winters were below freezing. I cannot honestly say how I made it through. Like the disciples in Luke chapter five, I toiled for years, night and day—empty and frustrated—I decided to drop the net and live in solitude. But in the Spring of 2011, God’s promise of restoration was fulfilled.
She’s everything my heart desired--a tiny five feet three inches, one hundred and ten pounds, long-- salt and pepper hair, with an enchanting smile.
I learned a lot about her character and personality, from her profile on— “Christian Mingle.com.” Her core color… “White.” Mine— “Red,” which she claimed is also her favorite color. It therefore, didn’t take much convincing to inspire us blending into a beautiful pink--another of her favorite colors. She agreed with an exuberant-- “Yes we can.”
But, on listening to the key-note-speaker, at one of the many pre-marital seminars we attended, the eighty-five-year-old pastor testified; “My wife and I are now married sixty-five years. The secret—I did not fall in love.” We looked at each other stunned as a deafening silence blanketed the entire audience of about three hundred.
The speaker paused--giving everyone the opportunity to tune-in, to the next statement he was about to make. “But,” he continued, “I made a conscious decision to love her, based on the wise and godly counsel of others who knew us both. Many turbulent years have passed, but I’ve stood by my decision.” “Of course,” he said, with a confident smile as he gently adjusted his glasses over his m-shaped nose--“I’m in love with her now, more than ever. Only death can separate us. ”
I’ve never heard such profundity, about love and marriage—spoken with such simplicity. Immediately one thousand watts of light turned on in my head and heart. At that moment, I decided–this is the woman, I want to love, honor and, cherish--in sickness, or in health, for richer, or poorer, till death do we part. So help me God!
However, her marriage package presented two challenging circumstances. One-- two adult daughters and a ten months old grand-baby-girl. This I expected since we both had previous relationships. This cute, freckled-face widow was ready to begin again. Isn’t it amazing how God connects people at the right place and time; who share mutual interest and desires.
But, the other half of this nuptial bond, involves not one, no--not two, but three dogs. Gigi, Pork Chop, and Honey-- all girls. Our “empty nest” is inhabited by other life forms. Three animals that follow her every step, everywhere, all day long. Like her shadow.
No! I do not like pets--not cats, not dogs, not birds, not even a fish--I did as a child, but I no longer have time or patience; and I doubt, I ever will. (Go ahead and sue me, or you can report me to the local ASPCA.)
Oh yes! Courtship felt euphoric. But, I had no idea; these four-legged creatures would be such a menace to our marriage. Why then, did I commit to this relationship? Simply--I made-a-decision to love this woman, and I’m determined to stand firm, “come what may.”
Nevertheless, I'm convinced that before I spend my valuable time, and hard-earned money on anything with four legs—canine, feline, bovine or otherwise--I would rather feed a hungry child somewhere in the world.
No kidding! Pet maintenance is costly. Three different types of dog foods, pee-pee pads, special treats, pet licenses and visits to the Vet. In addition, I’ve bought more lint brushes in the last six months, than I’ve needed in over fifty years. Dogs’ hair everywhere, regardless of how much we vacuum, sweep or Swiffer. Don’t sit anywhere is the repeated warning, I hear every Sunday morning as we get dressed for church.
This demand for constant care and attention: walking, feeding, rubbing, and bathing. I would rather give to a human being. “Paying it Forward.” Dogs, on the other hand-- irrespective of the number of years of training, walking, feeding and cleaning up after--never learn to at-the-least wipe their butts or their feet before coming back into the house. These barking, Chicken-flavored-Pedigree eating canines, simply walk back in--never closing the door behind them, and get right back on the couch like nothing just happened.
Will man’s best friend ever learn to go walking on their own, and return at a decent hour?
Can they, simply greet each other’s rear end, without all the fussing, growling and fighting for no apparent reason?
Will they ever learn to knock on bedroom doors before entering?
Dogs should be required to take baths or showers, and tidy up their beds. Birds do it.
When will they learn to go to the pantry--pour a bowl of Gravy Train--cleaning up any spills?
When will they learn to open the door, and go out to the bathroom on their own? They seem to know how to find the right spot in the yard--after spinning around four or five times; so, why can’t they open the same door we’ve been opening for them since they were puppies?
I often observe seniors—grimacing in pain, having a hard time walking, yet, in spite of adverse weather conditions—they must take their dogs out for a “poop and scoop” walk. I often ask myself--who’s walking whom? And why do they hold that loaded plastic bag as if it contains valuables?
Will these pests (typo) ever figure out that the mailman is here to deliver the mail and there’s no need for alarm? Enough, with all the barking and scratching; I’m sick of it!
Moreover, the older they get, the worse it becomes. Gigis’ recent visit to the Vet. for her occasional vomiting, diarrhea, and loss of appetite, cost a whopping three hundred and fifty dollars. Then, there was the special diet for two weeks, while we nursed her back to health. Dogs, ahh hh hh!
Gigi is eighteen years old. Her sister Pork Chop is seventeen. These off-breed Chihuahuas are the typical retired, older-seniors, with all the morning aches and ailments. Instead of the usual 6:00 a.m. backyard bathroom, Gigi pretends to be asleep and waits until we leave for work. She then finds her favorite corner of the living-room carpet to do her business. I think she is trying to tell us; she’s too old to go outside. (especially during those cold winter days.)
The issue then becomes, whoever returns home first is greeted by the offensive odor, and therefore, must do the clean-up. I have learned after several tours of duty to remain later than usual on my job-site. (I’m self-employed). Teresa is a state employee and is usually home by 5:00 pm. So, with “Bounty” in her right hand, the kitchen garbage container in her left—she stoops, applying the quicker-thicker-picker-upper to the obnoxious, excreted mixture on the floor and walls. How does that slimy, brownish, green stuff ever get on the walls? We have no idea.
Pork-Chop is legally blind and also needs a hearing aid. She’s an introvert, who prefers the comfort of a secret hideout behind the couch. You cannot be in the room for more than two minutes without getting a whiff of her presence. Yeh--she stinks.
Honey, is a seven-year-old Cocker Spaniel. A run-you-over, over-active female with a personality that’s almost human. Whenever she gets ready to play, you can either take the ball from her mouth or pick it up off the floor. But, she’ll wait about two minutes for you to decide, before dropping it--as if to say, “since you didn’t take it from me, you can pick it up yourself--but, we will play ball.”.
In their frustration--being left outside for more than thirty minutes, they’ll wander off into the neighborhood. A recent call from a not-so-friendly neighbor turned out to be a thirty minutes lecture on the proper care of animals. On and on she painted several scenarios of what could have happened; repeating the words--“you people” at every pause. Listening to her snobbish criticisms, you would think the dogs intentionally went over to her house to complain.
This triple canine package is what I subscribed to, on marrying the woman I so dearly love. But, as the saga unfolds, the dogging evidence proves, that marriage is one thing, but with dogs, it’s OMG!
Why should she be rubbing their tummy, scratching their heads or hugging them when that kind of affection works better on me? I’ve often suggested that she makes better use of her time, especially after I’ve had a hard days’ work.
Whenever we sit together watching TV, Pork Chop sits on her right, Gigi on her left and Honey on her lap, leaving me to sit alone while they enjoy the comfort of her touch. Whenever I do get a chance to sit next to her, they will step across my lap to get to her. I’m an extremely patient man, and I love my wife, but this has got to stop.
An occasional feeding, the constant opening of doors day and night, I’m learning to deal with, but sharing my wife with dogs—this is my greatest challenge yet.
Why am I putting up with all this dog-gone drama? Has our marriage gone to the dogs? Why does a simple hug have to be always, so carefully negotiated, lest we step on the dogs? The recurring answer is--I love my wife, and yes--she loves’ me. “Love endures all things.”
I’m certainly learning patience, meekness, and forgiveness, but most of all—I’m learning to love like Christ loved the church, and gave himself for it. Ephesians 5:
In conclusion, my prayer is: “Lord whenever you visit our house, Be-ware of the Dogs.”
All scripture references are from the KJV. (Bible).
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