Canine Contemplation

I sit down to begin my centering prayer.

Calling upon God to enter me, I have chosen the phrase “trust God” to repeat over and over.


Before many minutes have passed, my dog, who is lying on our couch sleeping, begins moving her legs and making whimpering sounds.

Is she having a nightmare?

Or is she joyously dreaming of chasing other dogs in a field?


Reluctant to interrupt a pleasant dream, I say in a low,  calm voice, “It’s OK, Chloe.”

This just about brings her to the brink of consciousness, but does not detract from her ability to fall asleep again.

I again begin uttering my phrase “trust God” when again I hear Chloe running in her sleep and whimpering.

I again reassure her and she drifts back to sleep.


But when I return to repeat the holy phrase I have chosen, I find myself saying,  “trust Chloe” a few times before I catch and correct myself.


I laugh internally at this slip of the tongue.

 

But, in retrospect, I wonder if “trust Chloe” is not honoring God as much as “trust God” is.


Perhaps it is not centering prayer or,  indeed, any form of prayer or meditation.


But when I look into my dog’s deep brown eyes, I see a spiritual realm missing in many people.


A colleague of mine at Lycoming College is a self-proclaimed atheist but breeds border collies and is completely dedicated to them.


She was doing the equivalent of daily dialysis for  one of her dogs who faced kidney failure during his last years.


She has a bumper sticker on her car saying “Dog is my co-pilot,” a popular takeoff on the phrase “God is my co-pilot,” the title  of a 1945 movie.


And I think there is a large element of truth to the popular aphorism “Dog is God spelled backwards.”


I wonder if this woman is not being brought to God by a circuitous route through her feelings for her pets.

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