Life And Limb

Our dog, our solitary family pet, is a Chihuahua ... yes, Javier (say Hah-Vee-Air) is a trembling little rat-dog who is scared of his own shadow, all big eyes and pointy ears and ridiculous histrionics ... that is, when he's not asleep -- which as it happens is approximately eighteen out of twenty-four hours. At least. But of late he's been getting all "het up" about a large dog that has recently been added to the next-door neighbor's backyard. Of course Javier is separated from this particular canine by an eight-foot privacy fence ... but there's that scent thing going on with dogs, and in the slender openings between the fence boards, Javier perceives the alien beastie trolling the perimeter of his suburban environs. And it sends his little spaceship into orbit.

I work mainly at home, and my "office" is actually a sunroom attached to our den. From where I'm situated at my desk I can watch Javier as he trots around out back, sniffing, checking his messages, growling at squirrels, and squinting as he lolls on his towel, Sphinx-like, sunning himself. This is on those semi-rare occasions when he is actually accepting of the fact that he is obliged to remain outside for a period of time exceeding forty seconds, as opposed to incessantly scratching at the door to be allowed back inside ... where he will do virtually the same things he does outside. Except check his messages. But I digress. Suffice to say, Javier is an indoor dog. The staple of his diet is Purina Little Bites Indoor Complete ... specially formulated for small, indoor dogs, with everything necessary to make his coat shine and provide him with twenty-three vitamins and minerals plus antioxidants. Then why does he beg for scraps? If you figure that out and let me know, I'll send you a framed color photograph of Javier.

But when the weather is fine, not too hot and not too cold, I open the door and send Javy out with this directive: "You're staying outside for a while today. Go on. Don't turn around and start begging to come back in because I won't let you." I try to sound real mean but he sees right through me ... and lets me know it by taking his time moving his tiny tush across the threshold. He knows how easily I am irked by the sound of his little claws scrabbling on the plexiglas door to the sunroom when he's determined to come back in. He can be maddeningly pitiful to look at on the other side of that door. So we go back and forth, Javier and me, furnishing one another with constant entertainment and exercise.

The other day tensions between Javier and the fence escalated to the point where he had been barking nonstop for several minutes. I say "between Javier and the fence" because the dog on the other side of the fence was Ignoring Javy with a capital "I" ... I could see him walking languidly back and forth, but there was no evidence of him taking any interest in the flea-sized critter working himself into a lather for his attention. A picture of frantic vexation, Javy was leaping and lunging at the fence, all the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. When he barks like that, he sounds like he's strangling; it's really quite terrifying. Yeah, right. To a hamster, maybe. But I went outside when I noticed that he had found an opening at the bottom of the fence and had begun sticking his nose into it as though he planned to follow with his whole body and meet his neighbor head-on. Not a good idea, but he didn't seem to know that. Javy is smart in some ways but not that way.

I attempted to reason with him. "If you don't take it out of that space you're gonna get that damp gumdrop of a nose bit off, buddyroe ... and you know how I count on you to sniff out and scarf up everything I drop onto the kitchen floor while cooking [except broccoli ... he won't eat broccoli]," I wheedled. "So stop already! That dog is not going to engage you in any sort of communication! He's laughing at you! He outweighs you by 50 pounds! Have you no fear, no pride or dignity?" Apparently not.

Hackles still vertical, Javier continued to lunge at the fence, barking furiously. He barked so hard and for so long, he began to make himself hoarse! Although when I advised him of that fact he must have heard something different because he stopped suddenly, looked at me, and nickered! Yes! Javier nickered and wagged his head like a horse! I said he was smart! I apologized for confusing him with the homophone but he wasn't listening because he was too busy going berserk, having reverted once again to crazed Chihuahua mode. This went on for awhile until I went back inside. I'm too busy to negotiate a detente between dogs on the opposite sides of a fence. Fish got to swim, birds got to fly ... and dogs got to bark.

"Silly little dog," I muttered to myself as I closed the plexiglas door behind me, pondering the futility of Javy's rash actions. I thought about how unwise it is to rail against things much bigger than us that we can't even see, maybe even putting ourselves in peril by doing so. Not to mention how ridiculous it makes you look to growl and bark and lunge and leap at a perceived "enemy" that is so big, so comfortably powerful, it can afford to act as though you don't exist! So many things in daily life are that way. The evil things that people do, the specters of illness and ruin that sometimes haunt us, the huge problems that loom in the night reaches ... they seem insurmountable and therefore terrifying. But there was a lesson in Javy's reaction to the big dog on the other side of the fence.

Sure, Javier could justifiably stand on our side of the fence and reason: "That big dog is no threat to me. I'm here and he's there, and that barrier ain't going anywhere. Mama puts kibble in my dish each and every day and I don't have to work for it. No need for me to get all in a dither about something I can't change no matter how hard I try." But no. God, his creator, hardwired Javy to unleash all the fury available to him when he smells a threat, and so that's what he does. He disregards his own safety in order to guard his territory. He is loyal and fierce and brave and a little bit crazy when certain things are at stake. He forgets the easy path and takes off lickety-split up the high road. Danger? Maybe -- almost certainly -- but there are principles in play here.

Anybody can go, lemming-like, with the herd.  Going against the grain ... that gives you genuine street cred, in my opinion.  There are some people who believe that your true merit as a human being is measured, at least in part, by how much time you spend out on a limb. I happen to be one of them. Because as someone said, out on a limb is where all the fruit is. Staying in a "safe" place may appear prudent, but in the end you've jeopardized more by keeping yourself safe than you would have by charging into the fray, all flags flying.

A beloved verse of Scripture tells us: And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free. But it isn't just knowing the truth that makes us free, because it's just as true that faith without works is dead. In between knowing and being made free is a heap of doing. Doing what knowing the truth enlightens and empowers you to do. Risking life and limb for what's sacred, what's God-given and therefore more precious than gold, what's not always easy to understand. Doing what's right.  If ye know these things, happy are ye if ye do them.