The Opening Statement

A Discussion of Life, God, and Our Natural Order

The Big Red Dog

Not long ago, while walking to my mailbox, which is about a hundred yards from our home, I noticed a large dog lying in the grass near the road. I wasn’t sure if it was alive until it raised its head to look at me. The moment we made eye contact, she bolted into the woods.

I couldn’t identify the breed, but she was big, red, and clearly half-starved. I could see her watching me from the woods. I went inside, grabbed a bowl of dog food, and returned to the spot by the mailbox where I’d seen her. She was still watching. I set the bowl down and called her, but she wouldn’t approach. So, I left the bowl and walked back to the house, keeping her in line of sight. Once I was a safe distance away, she made her way to the bowl and ate the food.

Later that day, I brought another bowl of food. I couldn’t see her anywhere, but I left the food. A little later, I looked out and saw her eating. I continued this routine twice a day, taking food for her. She would always wait until I had backed away before emerging from the woods. If I made eye contact before she reached the bowl, she would immediately retreat.

For some reason, I became obsessed with befriending this big red dog. Twice a day, I would go to the road, hoping she would be waiting. And sure enough, I would set the bowl of food down, back away, and she would appear.

For the next three weeks, we continued this routine. Eventually, using Vienna sausages and a little trickery, I got her to eat from my hand. She was a beautiful animal, a Rhodesian Ridgeback I believe. She had clearly been abandoned and likely abused. I’m not sure how long she had been living in the wild, but she trusted no one. I had to approach her very slowly; any sudden move would send her running off.

Finally, after two months of this routine, she moved from the woods to sleep under a cover next to the house. Sometimes she would honor me by allowing me to pet her, but she was always cautious, poised and ready to run back to the woods.

It morphed into a mutual obsession. All I thought about was what she was doing, needing, or thinking. Everywhere I went on the property, she would be within sight—not close, but never out of sight. She slept under a carport, essentially out in the open. I got her a doghouse, but she would have none of it.

I would wake up two or three times a night to look out the window and make sure she was okay. Once, I looked out just in time to see a skunk approaching where she slept. I ran outside, ignoring my wife’s warning, and barely avoided being sprayed while chasing it off.

My wife was supportive of my relationship with the big red dog, but I could tell she was beginning to think that I needed counseling.

Then, my wife went out of town to visit her mother, leaving just me and the big red dog. A major storm was approaching, bringing thunderstorms and rain for a couple of days. Thus began 48 hours of nonstop terror for the big red dog. As it turns out, the only thing she feared more than people was thunder.

It was cold, raining sideways, with nonstop lightning and booming thunder. Finally, I brought her into the house for the first time and made her a pallet on the living room floor. She toggled between shaking in terror and nonstop pacing back and forth. We went outside, then inside. Nothing I could do calmed her. She would hardly let me touch her, except to stop her from tracking a muddy mess over the rest of the house.

The storm started around noon. It was now four in the morning, with no sign of calming down. Finally, during the worst of it, I reached out, grabbed her, and held her tight. I placed my hand on her head, not as if to pet her, but more like a gentle press. As I held it there, she began to melt—slowly at first, and then almost like an ice cube on hot concrete. She sank down and lay across the top of my feet.

The rain was still pounding in a steady roar. An occasional boom of thunder would make her flinch a little, but that big red girl had found peace.

I’m sitting there, dripping wet, with a big, wet dog lying across my feet. I’m afraid to move or remove my hand from her head, thinking that she would come out of her trance and start it all over again. Suddenly, it occurred to me: I had just witnessed a miracle. I witnessed this big red dog, in the face of horrifying fear, finding her savior.

No, I’m not a god. But at that moment, she surrendered and placed her unconditional trust in me. She lay asleep with the storm still raging. This was one of the most moving events I have ever witnessed. It further validated my entire belief system.

My whole world, for a moment, like hers, was in its Natural Order.