God Loves Beagles

Normally picture of animals doing human-like things like wearing glasses, and the like, appearing perplexed and asking "Having a Bad Day?" don't do much for me. Such anthropomorphism of the animal kingdom can be mildly amusing at times at best. Downright cheesy almost always. But, these Beagles recreating the iconic Beatles Abbey Road walk is a fine piece of work. It actually shows some ingenuity. It works on so many levels. Yet, I have a confession to make. I love Beagles. Beagles make my tail wag. A new FB friend posted this picture. I hope he does not defriend me for my cutesy animal acting human critique.  

I had a Beagle named Gus when a child. This dog was only a pet a kid could love. He barked incessantly, licked out of the sugar bowl on the table (leading my dad to whap him in a Pavlovian-like experiment where poor Gus associated sugar with an ass-whupping and would bark once his tongue touched the sugar, thus announcing he was in the sugar bowl yet again, and result in a negative reinforcement that appeared to do little good in preventing future sugar transgressions), and Gus probably had the canine equivalent of an anxiety-disorder, ADD, and autism combined. Most Beagles aren't too smart and Gus definitely was at the low end of even that distribution. If he played NCAA sports, he would have definitely been ineligible his freshman year. Heck, he wouldn't have even made it to college. Peanuts Snoopy was far too smart and cool to be a Beagle despite outward appearance.  

Beagles have to be the most illogical dog for modern life. Hounds bred for hunting, stuck in fenced in yards and small houses. Get a Labradoodle or one of those other designer lab dogs genetically engineered to have the most acclimate qualities to sitting in the yard and patiently nurturing children.

Why did I love Gus? He was my dog. I accepted him. He was endearing in a pathetic way. Such a tortured creature, to hate him when he was so messed-up already would have just been mean. I still remember the day that my Mom told my older brother and I while we were in the Ford Falcon going somewhere that Gus that been shot by a hunter. He probably was where he shouldn't have been, doing something he should not have been doing. Par for the course. 


The realty of death for most children starts to strike home when a pet dies. And then a grandparent. One of the saddest days of my life. I guess I related to Gus in a lot of ways. I was an odd kid, cross-eyed, pigeon-toed, pretty clueless. Being born premature has some lasting repercussions and the waves of trauma were with me for most of my childhood. Here is the thing, I was smart enough to know I was messed up. That is a hard place to be psychologically. I was a little freak, and I aware of it.  Gus and I were comrades.   


How does God look at us...all of really quite pathetic, returning to the sugar bowl of sin over and over again? Having such a hard time turning away from the sweetness even though we know that punishment is soon to follow? I think He pities us. And loves us. He sees us as we are...frail, mortal, and broken, and extends benevolence. He shines his face upon us. To switch the animal example, we are the Beagles in His backyard  (rather than the sheep of His pasture).