SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE SIDNEY OHIO
In the almost 14 months since our marriage, our lives have taken us to what for us are some pretty extraordinary places. We’ve spent two unbelievable months in Italy and another month in the grand city of London. We’ve taken our little Ford Ranger to places all up and down the eastern seaboard from Rockport Maine to both coasts of Florida and back to Ohio. Inserted in those travels was a flight as far West as one can go without getting wet in the Pacific. (Well, I guess we even went a bit further. We got wet up to our ankles in the Pacific.) And now where are we? Somewhere about 4 miles outside of the small town of Sidney, Ohio. There are only about four or five other houses in sight and the big news of the day is a sighting of a buck running across the road while I was walking the dog or the change in the field across the road after the corn has been cut and the stalks leveled.
Speaking of the dog. His name is Pup Chik. I’m not sure of the spelling of his name, b
ut I know it means: “Little Pup” in Russian. He’s a big part of the reason we are here for five weeks or so. His “parents” are out wandering and we are tending to the farm and to Pup Chik. He’s grown to be a part of our list of cherished friends. How to describe him. He’s no spring chik, that’s for sure. But neither is he a candidate for the canine geriatric ward. He’s a musician of sorts. Loves to sing! When the right 
musical tones reach his ear, he breaks out into the most vigorous and sustained, if not exactly harmonious, howl. He loves to sleep in the living room sun and eat his ¾ cup of food three times daily. And walk! He loves to take walks and so we do – once in the morning and once in the final moments of the evening sun. He’s been a perfect teacher in the ongoing discussions my wife and I have on how our own lives are or are not productive and meaningful.
When we walk up and down these peaceable country roads, he is always with us at t
he end of his leather leash. He’s apt to go the distance between two telephone poles just proudly directing us from up ahead, happy to be in charge. Then, without notice, he pounces into the side grass and eagerly spends the next few minutes rooting around, parting the grass with his nose, tail reflecting the intensity of this search of his. I’ve never seen whatever it is he is pursuing. Again he will interrupt the forward pace because his nose has informed him that there is something unusual and uncataloged in the air. He’ll strain at the leash and press in the direction of the scent. Maybe the invisible trail will lead to some other animal’s droppings, or just along a path that som
e creature must have traveled a short time ago. I wish these excursions (that seem like detours to me) would always lead to something that I could identify as a logical and rational reason for the time spent, but more often than not, they don’t. I’ve been known to become impatient with what seems so irrational from my wise, seasoned, and educated perspective. I pull on his leash. “What’s the matter with you Pup Chik? There’s nothing here! Give it up and come on!” And then this morning it hit me. As incomprehensible as it seems to me, he’s just doing his work. He’s doing what he is called to do and what he is designed to do. It makes no difference if I don’t understand. It doesn’t matter a wit that grown adult humans scoff at him. He’s being faithful to who he is, this teacher of mine and that is all that matters.
Speaking of the dog. His name is Pup Chik. I’m not sure of the spelling of his name, b
ut I know it means: “Little Pup” in Russian. He’s a big part of the reason we are here for five weeks or so. His “parents” are out wandering and we are tending to the farm and to Pup Chik. He’s grown to be a part of our list of cherished friends. How to describe him. He’s no spring chik, that’s for sure. But neither is he a candidate for the canine geriatric ward. He’s a musician of sorts. Loves to sing! When the right 
musical tones reach his ear, he breaks out into the most vigorous and sustained, if not exactly harmonious, howl. He loves to sleep in the living room sun and eat his ¾ cup of food three times daily. And walk! He loves to take walks and so we do – once in the morning and once in the final moments of the evening sun. He’s been a perfect teacher in the ongoing discussions my wife and I have on how our own lives are or are not productive and meaningful.When we walk up and down these peaceable country roads, he is always with us at t
he end of his leather leash. He’s apt to go the distance between two telephone poles just proudly directing us from up ahead, happy to be in charge. Then, without notice, he pounces into the side grass and eagerly spends the next few minutes rooting around, parting the grass with his nose, tail reflecting the intensity of this search of his. I’ve never seen whatever it is he is pursuing. Again he will interrupt the forward pace because his nose has informed him that there is something unusual and uncataloged in the air. He’ll strain at the leash and press in the direction of the scent. Maybe the invisible trail will lead to some other animal’s droppings, or just along a path that som
e creature must have traveled a short time ago. I wish these excursions (that seem like detours to me) would always lead to something that I could identify as a logical and rational reason for the time spent, but more often than not, they don’t. I’ve been known to become impatient with what seems so irrational from my wise, seasoned, and educated perspective. I pull on his leash. “What’s the matter with you Pup Chik? There’s nothing here! Give it up and come on!” And then this morning it hit me. As incomprehensible as it seems to me, he’s just doing his work. He’s doing what he is called to do and what he is designed to do. It makes no difference if I don’t understand. It doesn’t matter a wit that grown adult humans scoff at him. He’s being faithful to who he is, this teacher of mine and that is all that matters. 
No comments:
Post a Comment