In Memoriam: Hank, a good dog

A woman at church lost her dog last week. 

I use "lost" colloquially; it wasn't misplaced. Hank escaped the yard one night, was discovered missing the next morning, and was found a day or two later. Sadly, it was found by a friend: dead, killed, and left on the side of the road less than 10 miles from the house. Adding insult to injury, the dogs collar had been stripped, two ropes were around the neck, and the animal looked as though it had been dragged behind a vehicle at some rate of speed. 

The couple found their pet, took it home and buried it in their field. 

She told me the story this morning, in tears, angry at what the presumed abductors presumably did; angry at herself for putting the dog outside; angry that a human could be so cruel. My tears ran hot as well, personifying, sad at what the dog felt: confused, scared, not understanding how someone who loved him so much was replaced with someone who was not rubbing his belly, giving him a treat, and caring for him like a part of the family. 

I am sad for the dog and his last moments. I am sad for the woman who must live with her well-meaning intention. I am sad for her husband who dug the grave and laid their little, old friend to rest. 

And, I am sad for the person who is assumed, presumed to have been so cruel. If a person's heart is so empty that it could do that to a dog, how empty it must really be. 

An old friend once said, "A man never stands as tall as when he stoops to scratch the ears of a cat or dog." This person or persons do not stand tall, no matter how tough they might have felt. They are small, a person of petite heart, minute compassion, miniscule value of life, and absent the experience of love between a pet and it's master and mistress. 

I hope, somehow, some way, this person realizes their mistakes, their sin against God, God's creation, and this family, and is lead to repent. Maybe this person becomes an animal advocate, or at least adopts a dog and learns to love and care for it. I hope the heart is warmed by the wagging tail, the big eyes, the lolling tongue that said "I love you, I trust you, let's play!" I hope their days and nights are less empty and their homes are the richer for the presence of a faithful dog. 

And I hope he or she or they never have to experience for him-, her-, or themselves what they once did to this family and their dog, a good dog named Hank.