Gone to the Dogs

"Gone to the dogs," another saying that
we don't know the origin of but the suspicion is

that dogs of the Germanic Europe weren't liked
by the Roman invading armies, and so, they were kept
outside the camps and when someone went outside
the camp; you know, to do what they needed to do,
the saying was they'd "gone to the dogs."

It has come to mean something negative in our
culture, when it shouldn't, my dogs behave far
better than many of my so called Christian friends.
You may have had a similar experience, which
is unfortunate, have to admit it's rare, but there
are too many times when my dogs seem to get the
whole thing about loving, but Christian's?  Well
you get the point.

Right now Mopsey, who came to us as an abused
dog, she weighed in then at skin and bones twenty
pounds, most of her fur had been kicked or torn
off, she looked like she had the mange- and so
Debbie took her to the vet, and $150.00 later
we found out, no mange- always nice to know.
But our relationship with this remarkable heart
was just getting warmed up.

Debbie's original game plan was to put Mopsey
in with some dogs who lived in the country, but
in her abused state, bruised, battered, someone
even shot her in the ear with a BB Gun- and the
BB was still in there- in her abused state, she
didn't get along with the other dogs who wouldn't
have anything to do with her?  They'd look at her
as if to say, "you probably had it comin'," and
they'd shy away from her- kind of like people
do when your down on your luck, ever seen that
happen?  The poor girl couldn't even get anything
to eat, they'd gang up on her and chase her away
from her food- as if though to say, "you aren't
gonna make it anyhow, why waste it."  Ever see
somebody like that, where it just didn't seem
to make much sense, really, to help them?

Mopsey couldn't get along with humans much
either, in fact, finally Debbie decided we needed
to bring her home, we had a discussion about it
and I said, "if we are going to bring her here, then
we need to treat her to love as she has obviously
never known, if we can't do that, we shouldn't put
her through anything else- so can we agree to that?"

It was agreed and Mopsey came to stay with us.
But she wouldn't let us near her, if we'd go near
her, she'd whimper back - she ate finally after
three days, and then took some water, but she
wouldn't let me come near her for 3 months-
everyday for three months I'd put my head
down, and put my hand out backside first,
this is supposed to be a position of submission.
But she'd still feel threatened, finally after
three months, she came over bye me, looked
at me, sizing me up, eye to eye, and then she
just leaned against my hand, as if though to
say, "thank goodness I can trust you, can't I?"

You see sometimes when somebody has been
kicked around so much, what they really need
is somebody that they can depend upon.  What
they don't need is a fancy lecture about how they
ought to behave, or, some non sense about what
the Bible says- that can come later, and really
probably should come, much later, for first
things for the person who has been injured, just
as it was for my hero Mopsey, was to see love-
to feel trust.

The picture is of Mopsey, and now, ten years
later, you can see it in my Mopsey's eyes, she
is the wonderful soul God intended she be-
but for Mopsey that journey must have been
a bit longer than for some?  Just as it is for
some people, hey?