Dottie is a dog.
I have given her credit for helping me to help save Mama’s life. She has a fairly short resume but saving Mama is on the list for sure.
Back when Dottie had been a Martin for a mere two weeks she and I had a family meeting of sorts. I explained to Dottie that while I understand she was uncivilized, had been institutionalized, and had no idea how to operate within the confines of a family, she was going to have to learn how to acclimate immediately.
Adoption was to be followed by adaptation. Step one was to learn not to urinate indoors.
We were out for a training session pertaining to the evacuation of her bowel or bladder one Sunny September Sunday afternoon when my phone rang and it was my Mama. She was having a medical emergency, had Dottie not needed house-trained training, I would not have otherwise been in a close enough proximity to help Mama.
Dottie helped me help Mama.
Dottie was acquired from a shelter, we were told she was a dachshund mix, we were told wrong. In the words of my Mama, “Dottie is as much a dachshund as I am.”
Dot’s shelter start made her eligible for a largely discounted spaying, she was filed under the “Fix yo’ Mama” heading of the allotted spay scholarship funds.
In the beginning I thought she was the Dumbest not-a-dachshund ever. In the beginning she was Charlotte’s dog, Charlotte’s responsibility, I was merely the homeowner.
Dottie had other plans. I did not give Dottie credit for potentially being smart.
I taught Dottie made up sign language and it is our primary means of communication. Just recently I gave Dottie several commands via our made up language. Maggie marveled and said, “She doesn’t even need words anymore to know what to do.”
Dottie does on occasion need words typically one word, “No!”
Over the course of our relationship Dottie has taught me many things, and everyday if I am paying enough attention she teaches me new things. Today was just such a day.
Dottie loves a ball, not just any ball some particular brand I purchased on discount without a shred of foresight. I never questioned why they were discounted or how difficult it may be to locate similar orbs at a deeply discounted cost in the future.
I never imagined we would need buckets of the balls because Dottie, not being dumb at all, would hide them from us just to watch us assume some variation of a yoga slash pretzel pose to retrieve the alleged misplaced balls.
I can demonstrate our made up sign for the ball and she will bring it to me. She will then wait patiently (most normal non-Dottie owners call this “sit”) for me to throw it. Dottie then bounds toward the ball with such speed and ferocity one would think she is taking part in the Iditarod.
Dottie has failed to master one particular aspect of the ball retrieval. We have been working for quite some time on this skill, nearly as long as we have been fetching the ball.
Release of the retrieved ball.
The expectation is that upon retrieval of the ball Dottie returns to my side, waits and releases the ball so that we can do the whole thing all over again. This is where things get sketchy.
I give Dottie the sign and say the words and she grips that ball between her jaws and refuses to let go. She will whine and whimper and tell me in Dottie language that she wants me to throw the ball, the only issue, she will not give me said ball to throw. I will occasionally pry the ball from her mouth, wrestle it from her clenched jaws imploring her through my own clenched teeth,
“Release Dotte!”
This lovely Spring morning we were in the backyard. I was looking through the clovers, talking to Jesus about healing and wholeness. I was taking my frustrations and hurt to Him and telling Him how hurt I truly am and asking why He is not doing anything about it.
I kept asking Him how to feel better.
Intermittently I played fetch with Dottie. I would throw the ball, she would retrieve it and bring it in my direction and per her usual she would not let me have the ball.
I bent forward and wrestled with the dog-drool covered ball. She was relentless in her grip. Her refusal to relinquish it was almost comical.
How could I give her what she wanted, another round of fetch, if she refused to let me have what she was holding onto so tightly?
And that’s when it hit me…
The Lord Himself could’ve just said: “Same Aim. Same.”
How can I expect Him to give me healing from the hurt of all the things if I refuse to relinquish them to Him? How can I expect Him to do what I have asked of Him if I am white knuckled gripped hanging onto my issues rather than the hem of His garment?
Dottie helped me to gain clarity that I just hadn’t had.
to usher in healing, I have to loosen my grip, open my hands and let Him have what so deeply hurts. He is not going to pry it out of my hands because He knows I, like Dottie, will only bear down harder.
In those moments sitting on the cool green clover of the backyard, I came to an understanding, to feel better is to relinquish those hurts to Him, to make the willful choice to surrender my hurts over to Him.
I have since added Theologian and Therapist to Dottie’s resume.
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