Second Fiddle to a Dog Biscuit

[An excerpt from the book “What My Dog Has Taught Me About Life?” by Gary Stanley]

There’s a natural affection built into Labradors. If Luci and I are in different rooms, Griff will position himself in the hallway so he can keep track of his family. Sit still for long, and Griff’s economy-size nose will find its way under your hand.

Still, there is one moment when Griff wants nothing to do with affection. Walk by his “tollbooth” (the pantry where his dog biscuits are kept), and all thoughts of affection take a back seat to what’s inside the pantry door. A creature of habit, he heads for his tollbooth whenever he’s been outside. Griff takes up his station on the edge of the carpet, ears erect, head tilted, still as death. He’s just so darn fetching! All you want to do is give him a big hug and scratch behind his ear. Dream on!

Trying to pet Griffin in front of the pantry is like trying to put a super-charged worm on a fishhook. Can’t be done. Waste of time. Don’t even try. Rubs him the wrong way when affection delays his divine right to a goody.

It happened again early this morning when Griffin whined me out of bed. I marched down the hall across the cold kitchen floor, pulled open the sliding glass door, and welcomed the Griffmeister back from the wilds of the backyard. Straight to his tollbooth. Ears erect. Head tilted. He looked so doggone huggable. I walked over and extended a loving hand. You’d have thought I had a cattle prod and some nasty intentions. He ducks my hand and resists my affectionate overtures. He lets me know in no uncertain terms that our agendas are light-years apart.

Oh, well. The demanded treat is placed into Griff’s mouth. The non-relational ritual is over. Expectation met. Rebuff accepted. I hear sounds of crunching as I walk down the hall to the bedroom.

A few minutes later, I hear the unmistakable sound of paws clipping the carpet as Griff makes his way into our bedroom. Feigning sleep, I soon feel the familiar touch of Griffin’s muzzle under my hand. Companionship is now restored – on his terms. It’s hard to play second fiddle to a dog biscuit.

God knows just how I feel. I do the same thing to Him all the time. I’m more interested in His hand-out than His heart.

“I know. I know. But just let me read the newspaper first, then we’ll spend some time together. Don’t press so close. I’ve got work to do, deadlines to meet, and I need some inspiration for the next chapter. After that, I’ll go along and let you love on me. But not now. What I’d really like is for You to open Your hand, not Your heart. See how straight I sit, countenance focused, visibly worthy. Give me what I want first, and then I’ll accept the offer of Yourself.”

My stomach keeps crowding in front of my soul. Feeding the flesh becomes more important than savoring the fellowship.

Some days I’m no smarter than my dog.

[Back to Home]