Baby Jane and Blanche

I’m on another dogsitting gig through the rest of the month, so say hello to these adorable mini-daschunds, Baby Jane and Blanche.

 Of course those aren’t their real names.  For one thing, these sisters are six, not ancient movie stars.  And they like each other, for the most part.  And finally, they are dogs, not Bette Davis or Joan Crawford, heh.

But yes, they are just as adorable as they look in the pictures.  They’re allowed on the furniture, they’re relatively well behaved (unless they see a squirrel, then it’s game over) and they don’t require much, they just wanna be on the couch with you.  And I want them to be on the couch with me, although it does make writing hard, since I wanna snuggle those little noses to DEATH.

Their owners told me about the breakfast/dinner ritual, which includes a prayer.  The owners somewhat embarrassingly explained that I didn’t have to say a prayer, but they did, and I think it’s hilarious, so I’m totally keeping the tradition while the owners are gallivanting in Europe. 

The ritual is simple.  I pour the kibble in the bowls.  I get Baby Jane and Blanche to sit.  I put the bowls on the ground, but they’re supposed to stay put and not move.  Then I say the prayer, and as soon as I say, “Okay,” the pups zoom for their bowls, and inhale the kibble in something under 3 minutes (I’m not kidding.)

The prayer can be about anything, since, you know, dogs can’t understand most English (though they appear to equate, “Okay” with “DINNER TIME!  RUN RUN GET IT NOW!  IT MIGHT LEAVE!”)

So I thank God that Blanche and Baby Jane are generous enough to allow me to use their meal time for my own personal prayers.  I usually thank God for the day, I pray that the morning/evening will be productive and successful.  I ask God to bless the kibble (though I don’t think unblessed kibble tastes any different).  I thank God for Blanche and Baby Jane, and thank you thank you thank you, Lord, Amen.

“Okay!”

I wonder what runs through the doxies’ minds while I do this.  I wonder if the presence of God can fall upon an animal who doesn’t know a God exists.  Sure, there’s been plenty of examples where God shines through the love of an animal, but does that animal KNOW they’re being used as an example, as a vessel?  In other words, we look at the dog and see God.  What does the dog see when we’re looking at it?

I guess it’s possible the that dog looks at us and thinks WE’RE God, since we’re the provider of the kibble and the water, and we’re the ones who open doorways of opportunities that lead to backyards where bathroom duties abound in abundance.

So then it’s just God reflecting between man and dog, a never ending circle of God’s grace reflected over and over and over again.

And dogs will never understand that.  Ho, ho, ho.