Angels of Our Better Nature
A Native American legend tells tells how God walked everywhere throughout the world, creating all the animals and giving them their names. The story relates the creation of all the animals the tribe knew – except for the dog. God didn’t create the dog, his dog came down from heaven with him. God already had a dog.
There have always been dogs.
My grandmother told me another story, about the two dogs on Noah’s Ark. Every day the dogs patrolled the decks, keeping watch, nosing into everything like dogs do. One day, one of the dogs found a hole below the waterline. A leak had sprung, and it was getting bigger. Without hesitation, the dog thrust his nose into the hole, and the other dog ran off barking wildly to bring help. By the time Noah and his sons got back, the first dog was in great pain, but he kept his nose in the hole until the humans could reapair it, averting disaster. In honor of his courage, god gave all dogs a cold wet nose as a badge of honor.
There have always been dogs, and dogs have always been our truest friends.
I’m not a religious person, and though I try hard to be a supportive Democrat, I’ve never been able to be a true believer in anyone’s party line. I’m a skeptic about almost everything and something of a heretic in every group I’ve ever been part of. But there is one thing in this world I believe in without doubt or hesitation, one thing in which I have total faith: the pure, brave loyal goodness of dogs.
I believe in dogs.
The first archaeological evidence of domesticated dogs dates from about 14,000 years ago – before the creation of writing or the establishment of agriculture. But recent DNA evidence from the decoding of the canine genome is even more startling. All domestic dogs are descended from wolves, and they began to diverge from wolves between 100 and 130,000 years ago. Think about that time span: ten times the length of all recorded history. And for anyone who knows much about pre-history, that era,, around 100,000 years ago is very provocative – that’s the time when the first fully modern human beings – Homo sapiens sapiens – appeared on earth. Dogs and humans were born together. That’s something more than one species domesticating another – that’s co-evolution.
There have always been dogs
Its as if one night, as our ancestors sat around one of the first campfires, the parents of all dogs left their wofly wildness behind and came to sit on the edge of the light. “Feed us,” they might have said. “Feed us, care for us, and we will hunt with you and guard you while you sleep and keep you warm when the nights are cold and love you with all our hearts. Feed us, care for us and we will be your truest friends forever.”
And they always have been … even when we have not honored the covenant nearly so well.
The American Humane Society has estimated that over 9.6 million animals – mostly dogs and cats – are euthanized every year in shelters in the United States. The statistics they based those numbers on are several years old, and I would like to tell you that the numbers have gotten better. But I can’t.
About a year ago I became a volunteer dog walker at the Companion Animal Shelter run by PAWS out in Lynwood, Washington. Every Saturday afternoon I take the bus out from Seattle and spend a couple of hours walking and playing with the dogs waiting there for adoption. It sounds altruistic, but altruism probably wouldn’t have kept me going out there every Saturday, rain or shine, Christmas and New Year’s Day included. I’m not an unselfish person. The truth is, I can’t have a dog in the apartment where I live, and I need them at least as much as they need me. Those dogs are my therapy and a large part of my sanity. They have their paws planted firmly on the ground and they stick their noses in everything. Even at what looks like a very bleak time in their lives, all they really need or want is food, water, someone to play with and lots of love.
I mean, really, what more is there?
Not long after I started volunteering I met Pete, an adorable old Chow Chow with a face like a teddy bear. Pete was about ten years old and totally deaf. We took quite a few walks together. He wasn’t much into games, not even Frisbee but he liked to go out to the yard and run around. He seemed aloof, as Chows often are, but alone in his kennel, once he got to know me, Pete wanted to snuggle and be held. I fell in love with him very quickly, and I worried about him for many weeks. Old dogs are not easy to get adopted; most people want puppies. One person took Pete home and then brought him back, complaining that he slept too much. PAWS is a “low kill” shelter, meaning that they only euthanize dogs with serious medical conditions, or dogs whose behavior has become dangerously aggressive, making them too much of a liability to adopt out. But still I worried as Pete’s stay grew longer and longer. I sent out e-mails with photos of Pete to everyone I know – some of you probably received them. The shelter supervisors assured me that Pete was “one of the good ones” and they wouldn’t give up one him. They didn’t, and finally Pete found a family. I was there the day he left and got to say goodbye. I still have his photo on my computer desk top
A few months later, I met Redmond. He was a mix of Chow and Shar-pei, brought in one Saturday evening while I was there. The next week after everyone was walked I sat with him in his pen and brushed him and helped him feel less scared of the shelter, which is tough on most dogs, but especially on Redmond, who was shy of strangers. Redmond had been mistreated in his life, we didn’t know how, but it wasn’t hard to tell. He was an incredibly sweet dog … to people. But he was afraid of other dogs, and his fear made him aggressive. A non-profit shelter can’t afford to adopt out a dog who might hurt someone or even someone’s pet. The liability could wipe them out. The next week when I came back Redmond was gone. I have great respect for, and trust in, the staff at PAWS and I know they never make a decision like that lightly. But Redmond was an injured angel, and I still can’t think of him without crying. I wanted to get a picture of him to remember him by, but there were none.
There are loving dogs, and playful dogs; there are sad dogs and angry dogs; there are dogs who have been hurt and even dogs who have become mean. But there are no hateful dogs. Dogs are not capable of hate.
There are a lot of worthy and urgent causes in this world worth devoting one’s time to: disasters to meet, children to feed, wars to end or prevent. I choose dogs, and I’m here to urge all of you to as well. Adopt a dog, donate to a shelter, spay and neuter your pets, volunteer your time. From the death of rain forests to the agony of nations, it might not seem that a few lost and loving dogs rank very high on the scale of need.
But I believe in dogs.
A promise was made a long, long, long time ago. They have always kept it. And I, for my part, intend to see that we do too.
There have always been dogs.
My grandmother told me another story, about the two dogs on Noah’s Ark. Every day the dogs patrolled the decks, keeping watch, nosing into everything like dogs do. One day, one of the dogs found a hole below the waterline. A leak had sprung, and it was getting bigger. Without hesitation, the dog thrust his nose into the hole, and the other dog ran off barking wildly to bring help. By the time Noah and his sons got back, the first dog was in great pain, but he kept his nose in the hole until the humans could reapair it, averting disaster. In honor of his courage, god gave all dogs a cold wet nose as a badge of honor.
There have always been dogs, and dogs have always been our truest friends.
I’m not a religious person, and though I try hard to be a supportive Democrat, I’ve never been able to be a true believer in anyone’s party line. I’m a skeptic about almost everything and something of a heretic in every group I’ve ever been part of. But there is one thing in this world I believe in without doubt or hesitation, one thing in which I have total faith: the pure, brave loyal goodness of dogs.
I believe in dogs.
The first archaeological evidence of domesticated dogs dates from about 14,000 years ago – before the creation of writing or the establishment of agriculture. But recent DNA evidence from the decoding of the canine genome is even more startling. All domestic dogs are descended from wolves, and they began to diverge from wolves between 100 and 130,000 years ago. Think about that time span: ten times the length of all recorded history. And for anyone who knows much about pre-history, that era,, around 100,000 years ago is very provocative – that’s the time when the first fully modern human beings – Homo sapiens sapiens – appeared on earth. Dogs and humans were born together. That’s something more than one species domesticating another – that’s co-evolution.
There have always been dogs
Its as if one night, as our ancestors sat around one of the first campfires, the parents of all dogs left their wofly wildness behind and came to sit on the edge of the light. “Feed us,” they might have said. “Feed us, care for us, and we will hunt with you and guard you while you sleep and keep you warm when the nights are cold and love you with all our hearts. Feed us, care for us and we will be your truest friends forever.”
And they always have been … even when we have not honored the covenant nearly so well.
The American Humane Society has estimated that over 9.6 million animals – mostly dogs and cats – are euthanized every year in shelters in the United States. The statistics they based those numbers on are several years old, and I would like to tell you that the numbers have gotten better. But I can’t.
About a year ago I became a volunteer dog walker at the Companion Animal Shelter run by PAWS out in Lynwood, Washington. Every Saturday afternoon I take the bus out from Seattle and spend a couple of hours walking and playing with the dogs waiting there for adoption. It sounds altruistic, but altruism probably wouldn’t have kept me going out there every Saturday, rain or shine, Christmas and New Year’s Day included. I’m not an unselfish person. The truth is, I can’t have a dog in the apartment where I live, and I need them at least as much as they need me. Those dogs are my therapy and a large part of my sanity. They have their paws planted firmly on the ground and they stick their noses in everything. Even at what looks like a very bleak time in their lives, all they really need or want is food, water, someone to play with and lots of love.
I mean, really, what more is there?
Not long after I started volunteering I met Pete, an adorable old Chow Chow with a face like a teddy bear. Pete was about ten years old and totally deaf. We took quite a few walks together. He wasn’t much into games, not even Frisbee but he liked to go out to the yard and run around. He seemed aloof, as Chows often are, but alone in his kennel, once he got to know me, Pete wanted to snuggle and be held. I fell in love with him very quickly, and I worried about him for many weeks. Old dogs are not easy to get adopted; most people want puppies. One person took Pete home and then brought him back, complaining that he slept too much. PAWS is a “low kill” shelter, meaning that they only euthanize dogs with serious medical conditions, or dogs whose behavior has become dangerously aggressive, making them too much of a liability to adopt out. But still I worried as Pete’s stay grew longer and longer. I sent out e-mails with photos of Pete to everyone I know – some of you probably received them. The shelter supervisors assured me that Pete was “one of the good ones” and they wouldn’t give up one him. They didn’t, and finally Pete found a family. I was there the day he left and got to say goodbye. I still have his photo on my computer desk top
A few months later, I met Redmond. He was a mix of Chow and Shar-pei, brought in one Saturday evening while I was there. The next week after everyone was walked I sat with him in his pen and brushed him and helped him feel less scared of the shelter, which is tough on most dogs, but especially on Redmond, who was shy of strangers. Redmond had been mistreated in his life, we didn’t know how, but it wasn’t hard to tell. He was an incredibly sweet dog … to people. But he was afraid of other dogs, and his fear made him aggressive. A non-profit shelter can’t afford to adopt out a dog who might hurt someone or even someone’s pet. The liability could wipe them out. The next week when I came back Redmond was gone. I have great respect for, and trust in, the staff at PAWS and I know they never make a decision like that lightly. But Redmond was an injured angel, and I still can’t think of him without crying. I wanted to get a picture of him to remember him by, but there were none.
There are loving dogs, and playful dogs; there are sad dogs and angry dogs; there are dogs who have been hurt and even dogs who have become mean. But there are no hateful dogs. Dogs are not capable of hate.
There are a lot of worthy and urgent causes in this world worth devoting one’s time to: disasters to meet, children to feed, wars to end or prevent. I choose dogs, and I’m here to urge all of you to as well. Adopt a dog, donate to a shelter, spay and neuter your pets, volunteer your time. From the death of rain forests to the agony of nations, it might not seem that a few lost and loving dogs rank very high on the scale of need.
But I believe in dogs.
A promise was made a long, long, long time ago. They have always kept it. And I, for my part, intend to see that we do too.
posted by Olin Elliott at 8:38 PM
1 Comments:
Got here from 43 Things. Good post. Post more! This was from January after all.
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