Mothering Season

Stella whelped 3 puppies, not as many as expected, but they were healthy little boogers. My son called in a dog midwife who was familiar with bulldog issues. I had never heard of such a thing. She came in the wee hours and stayed through the next afternoon. She massaged Stella and helped her through the process. It was not Stella’s first litter, but there is always concern.

Over the weeks of motherhood, Stella was the best dog mom ever. She did her job from the first moment above and beyond the call of duty. She fed them, spent every day and night with them, and, if they had to go to the vet, however briefly, she went nuts over the separation and worried for them until they came back home.

And bless her heart, she cleaned them – the yuckiest job ever. She never shirked the task. At least I had baby wipes and diapers to use for my offspring. All she had to use was…well, you know.

But when the puppies were weaned and her job was done, she knew it was done and, in her dog wisdom, she acted accordingly. She did not chase after them, though they still chased after her. She did not let them go back to nursing. That was over. Baby puppyhood had ended and to let it go on would not have been a kindness to her little dogs. They were her babies when they were babies. When they grew into young dogs, she did not mourn the change in seasons.

Human parents are different. Our seasons last far longer than those of dogs. But seasons change nonetheless and we must allow them to change – gracefully. I learned a few lessons from watching Stella raise her puppies.

  • Wean your offspring firmly but kindly. Mother’s milk is great, but it won’t sustain a full grown adult.
  • Don’t let them chase and tackle you. They need to focus on other things in order to be themselves.
  • Don’t be afraid of the changing of the seasons. Each one has its own particular charms.

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven…” (Ecclesiastes 3:1)

 

©H.J. Hill 2016 All Rights Reserved.

 

First Things First

I was not present when Stella’s puppies were born. They were delivered naturally, an oddity. English Bulldogs often experience birth by Caesarian Section because their puppies’ heads are so large.

I could have stayed home for it. Instead I was at work, on an inconsequential day, doing inconsequential things. I could have taken a personal day which would have allowed me to witness the miracle of animal birth. The only other time I had been present for that sort of miracle was for the assisted birth of a calf. But this time I allowed first things to be submerged beneath second things. I stayed stuck in my own personal mire of stupidity and put the unimportant ahead of a first thing.

After warning about what “the woman who makes a dog the centre of her life” loses (a warning I will endeavor to heed, Professor), C.S. Lewis wrote, “You can’t get second things by putting them first. You get second things only by putting first things first.”  [C.S. Lewis, “First and Second Things”, God in the Dock: Essays on Theology and Ethics, The Collected Words of C.S. Lewis (Inspirational Press, 1996 p. 490.]

Don’t cheat yourself out of the significant events God places before you. It would have been so easy for me to be present with Stella that day, to watch what only God can do. If you have a chance to celebrate creation, a chance that does not cost any first thing of your life or the life of another, do it. Let’s not sit around and regret closed doors, doors that were open for a brief moment, doors we allowed to close while we did the mundane. There are few daily tasks that cannot be made up later.

The world makes terrible demands on us. And yes, there are duties which we must fulfill. The rest are choices. Lord, help us to choose well.

 

©H.J. Hill 2016 All Rights Reserved.

 

 

God-Send

I thought I would recognize a God-send when I saw one, but Stella surprised me.

Blessings are odd things. They are not always wrapped in shiny paper. They don’t always announce themselves. Once in a while, they show up as stinky, wrinkly, smooshy-faced, barrel-shaped bulldogs with faces that, as one neighbor put it, “only a mama could love”.

The day Stella came had been a rough one for me, a confusing mess that represented everything my job had become – a sinking sand pit with me stuck in the middle. Her unexpected arrival jolted me, but not enough to get me unstuck. When my son left to pick up food and a bed for her, she promptly pooped on the floor at my feet. In hindsight, in her place, I might have done the same.

Not an auspicious start.

I cleaned up the pile, promising myself that it was the last thing I would do toward taking care of this dog. My son brought her. He would have to take care of her. That selfie promise lasted, well, maybe a couple of days. My eyes kept straying over to where she slept, watching for signs that she was going into labor. I checked her water bowl. Was it full? Was it clean? The times I was pregnant, I wanted a generous supply of clean water.

As the weeks limped along, I realized Stella’s first blessing to me. She forced my mind off of myself and onto another. Not another human. Another creature.

Stella still paws me, claims me, clings to me as if she’s afraid that no one will keep loving her. After all, it didn’t work out before.

If only I could make her understand.  

“Stella, I thank God for you. You are not a mistake. God brought you to me at the perfect time. You. Specifically you. Of all the dogs on the planet, He chose you and brought you here. I am glad that He did. It shows how much He cares for you. And for me. An answer to prayer shines like a star. You came right on time, Stella. Not a moment early, not a moment late.”

So keep your eyes open. You never know when a disguised blessing will appear, even one in the form of a four-legged, walking barrel.

 

© H.J. Hill 2016 All Rights Reserved

 

Not the Dog I Prayed For

The first time I saw Stella, I didn’t like her. Easy dogs are easy to like. Well-mannered, cute, sweet-smelling, obedient. Stella did not fit that bill. She did not meet my definition of cute. She smelled awful. She farted constantly.

Stella is an Olde English Bulldogge. A bulldog. Lazy old me with a bulldog.

I had prayed for a dog – a small brown and white dog with a long, narrow muzzle and a quizzical look on its face. It had been almost 5 years since my little Corgi, Susie, had died. I felt I was finally ready.

“Dear Lord, please send me a dog I can help, a dog I can be good to, the little brown and white dog that I am seeing in my mind. Oh, and no shedding, chewing, bad smells, or pooping and peeing in the wrong places.”

(In other words, I wanted a windup toy dog that I could turn on and off with the push of a button. Lazy old me.)

Three months later, Stella came. She did not wander up. My son brought her. She was pregnant and within a couple of weeks of delivering her litter. I didn’t expect anything good when Stella showed up. I expected more work, more mess, more dirt.

But then I hadn’t expected much of anything good for a long time. It’s hard to talk about failures. They come in so many varied shapes and sizes. Sometimes they come in strings and, after a while, if you don’t break free from quicksand thinking, you get stuck. You start tolerating life, not living it. (And here’s a secret – occasionally failure is success in disguise.)

I started tolerating Stella and shifted to feeling sorry for her. I looked at her hang dog face night after night as she awaited the birth of her puppies. Poor Stella would lumber up to me, begging for a smidgen of attention.

One day I realized that Stella and I looked a lot alike. Hang down heads. Hang dog faces. God can use anything to get your attention, even a bulldog.

“God knows what He’s doing, Stella.”

She looked at me doubtfully with her sideways bulldog stare. “God knows what He’s doing. Do you?” She didn’t have to say it. It was written all over my face.

So where will all this lead? I don’t yet know. The Lord answered my prayer with a bulldog. She was not the dog I prayed for. She was the dog I needed.

And she did fit one item on my mental prayer list. She was brown and white.

 

©H.J. Hill 2016 All Rights Reserved