Maddie: Rest in Peace

Wednesday morning, Diane and I lost our dear Maddie, an absolutely wonderful 15-year-old Bichon Frise. Maddie was born on January 21, 2008 and died on June 7. Diane and I adopted Maddie on March 29, 2014 from the “Brat Pack,” an aptly named Bichon rescue group out of Mt Dora, Florida. Maddie, then, was a part of our family for almost ten years. It really seems as if she had been with us far longer, simply because she joined us so willingly and immediately endeared herself to us. Here’s a photo I took of Maddie on the day she joined our family.

In a conversation with a friend the other day, she suggested that for those our age our relationship with the family dog is more evident, much deeper, perhaps more important. When we're raising children, the family dog is a little less present to the parents than to the children since work, child-rearing, homemaking and all the rest take up so much of our time. We actually spend fewer hours alone with our dogs and when they leave us, we certainly miss them, but our grief is tempered by a home still full of life. But in retirement, the children are grown, raising families of their own, and a dog becomes a far more meaningful member of this smaller, aging family. Diane and I shared in Maddie’s care, and her presence was almost constant, just as Maddie shared her attention with both Diane and me. I suppose from Maddie’s perspective, we became the “pack.” Yes, we were a small pack, just the three of us, but the presence of each was important to the others. It’s remarkable how quickly this little dog became a true part of our family.

Maddie & Hang-out the Window Goggles

This was evident in Maddie’s behavior. When I moved from room to room doing little tasks, she would follow me. If I went into my office to work, she’d join me and plop down and curl up on the little dog bed near my desk. She’d act much the same way with Diane. Maddie especially disliked it when Diane and I happened to be in separate rooms with the door closed between us. This she could not accept. She wanted the pack, the family, together, or at least accessible. Maddie actually taught us quite a bit about relationships, and even about discipleship. Over the years I’ve written a few blog posts about this. Here are links to a couple of them:

• In December 2017: Doggone Discipleship.

• In August 2018: Maddie, My Teacher

The Threesome at the Grand Canyon

Within weeks of Maddie’s arrival we took her with us on a long road trip to California. It was then we discovered that Maddie, unlike all our previous dogs, didn’t especially enjoy riding in the car. Why? I haven’t a clue, but she came to us as a six-year-old with a collection of interesting, but minor, neuroses. Although she adjusted somewhat to car travel, she never fully accepted it, and much preferred to ride along in the golf cart on neighborhood trips. But as we also discovered on that long West Coast trip, she loved being with new people. Other than trying to nibble on the toes of two of our grandsons, she made friends with everyone…well, almost everyone. There was one man in the neighborhood she seemed to dislike. Whenever she saw him, she growled, a response never repeated with another. Who knows why, but I never really trusted him.

Diane and Maddie in Tombstone, AZ

Maddie readily accepted other dogs unless they were aggressive toward her. She wouldn’t put up with those snappy little ankle-biters who seem to regard other canines as potential enemies rather than friends. Usually, she would simply turn and walk away from the aggressive ones. But if another dog actually tried to attack her, Maddie would respond in a way that always sent the other dog running. She wouldn’t pursue, but would then just go about her business of OCS, that is, obsessive, compulsive sniffing. Maddie was often the dominant dog in dog-on-dog relationships.

Possessive Maddie and her Milkbone

Maddie seemed also to accept the presence of wild creatures. She would certainly notice the rabbits, squirrels, armadillos, and our little neighborhood lizards — pretty much any wild four-legged animal — but she never chased them. I think perhaps the predatory instincts had long been suppressed in her breed, or more likely it was just Maddie’s unique personality. Interestingly, the local wild critters rarely saw her as a threat. I’ve seen her stand within a foot of a pair of tall sandhill cranes. She’d just sniff away while they searched for food, each ignoring the others. The same was true when we’d occasionally happen on a flock of 20 or 30 ibis gathered in a neighbor’s front yard. Mutual tolerance was always evident. On our daily pre-dawn walk, we’d often stop by a spot where two frogs (or toads?) hung out, always sitting on the same small concrete slab. Maddie would quietly approach them, bend over, and give them a sniff. Truly amazing, but it happened day after day. If I ever came within five feet of this pair, they would instantly disappear down an access hole in the concrete. 

And here is my all-time favorite photo of the two females who joined forces to rule me for the past ten years. You can see why...

Yes, indeed, Diane and I will miss this wonderful, beautiful little gift from God. For those who love Him, God always provides the perfect gift at the perfect time. I think He did that for us when He gave us our Maddie. Living as we do in our odd version of retirement, aging and in imperfect health of mind and body, we became closer to each other thanks to Maddie. And surprisingly, with her physical departure, I sense that this closeness will only increase. She remains with us in spirit.

Oh, yes, one of my favorite philosopher/theologians is Peter Kreeft, a professor of philosophy at Boston College and a man who has written more books than most folks today have read. One of those books, Every Thing You Ever Wanted To Know About Heaven, is a marvelous read, and I recommend it highly. On page 45 Kreeft offers a wonderful, Scriptural explanation of why our pets will join us in heaven. Buy the book and read it.

In the meantime, Diane and I will still shed some tears and be continually surprised by Maddie's absence. We were good to her, but she was far better to us. And so, we offer her to the Lord, Who made heaven and earth and all creatures great and small. 

 

Blessings and God's Peace...

Sick and Tired

I’ve been sick, with something that’s made me very tired. I’m really not sure what hammered me about a week ago, but it sure made an impression. It feels like the flu but I won’t hazard a diagnosis except to say that I’ve been out of commission ever since it appeared. The symptoms were pretty standard: aches and pains, upper respiratory congestion and cough, chills, weakness, loss of appetite, and all the rest. To my knowledge I never had a fever, so I guess that’s a good thing. But the best thing has been the loving care provided by Diane who kept me hydrated, medicated, fed, warm and cozy, and let me get the rest I needed. She has been wonderful indeed. Anyway, thanks to Diane, I’m now on the mend, and should be back to normal within a day or two. In the meantime I’ll continue to remain cloistered here at home and just goof off until I feel well enough to rejoin polite society. 

Sadly, today I’ll have to miss the Parish Staff Christmas Luncheon, always an enjoyable event, except perhaps for the irritating Yankee Swap gift exchange. Okay, okay…a lot of folks apparently enjoy it, but it just seems to turn gift-giving into an unnecessarily complicated process that ensures the right gifts too often get to the wrong people. Just seems to me a “secret Santa” approach would be a lot simpler, leave everyone happier, and be more attuned to Christian values. But what do I know? Obviously, not much, because I think I’m alone in my, until now, unvoiced criticism. I’d already bought a gift for the luncheon, one that met the $25 limit. I think I’ll ask Diane to give it to some deserving soul whom she believes will enjoy it,

Diane’s undergoing another of her frequent physical therapy sessions, so while she’s out I’ll ask a compliant Alexa to play a little Vivaldi or Bach while I take a brief restorative nap right here in my easy chair. But first I must extricate my right foot from under Maddie who decided to settle down on top of it. This is something new with Maddie who’s normally not much of a cuddler. Perhaps it’s a symptom of her advancing age — Maddie turns 15 this month — and reflects a long-repressed desire to establish a closer relationship with the pack. Then again, maybe she just decided my slippered foot was a handy pillow. 

In the meantime, get your heart and soul ready for Jesus. He arrives soon. 

Is Older Better?

It’s an interesting question, and I suppose the only acceptable answer is, “It depends.” So often we assume that with age comes wisdom. Have you ever noticed how centenarians respond when asked to reveal the secret of their longevity? Their answers vary widely, but only rarely display signs of wisdom. I’ve heard everything from “coffee and grits every morning” to “a glass of whiskey every night.” I’ve never heard anybody say, “I really didn’t do anything special. I suppose I was blessed and have good genes.” This would probably be the most honest response, one that likely reflects true humanity and some degree of scientific validity.

My dad used to say, “Yes, indeed, some older people are truly wise and have gained wisdom through a lifetime of both education and experience. But I’ve also known a lot of stupid, old jerks.” As someone who is now, at age 77, in the midst of my seniority, I agree with my dad’s observation, although into which category I fall has yet to be determined. I’m sure most of us can agree, when it comes to people, wisdom is likely distributed sparsely but randomly among most age groups, with the possible exception of teenagers.

As for lifespans, God has allotted His human creatures a reasonable number of years. How did the psalmist put it?

For all our days pass away under thy wrath,

our years come to an end like a sigh.

The years of our life are threescore and ten,

or even by reason of strength fourscore;

yet their span is but toil and trouble;

they are soon gone, and we fly away [Ps 90:9-10].

I’ve always liked that “fly away” metaphor, and as someone who is well past this biblical span, I expect I’ll be boarding that flight and departing all this toil and trouble in the not too distant future. But until that final sigh I’ll just continue doing what I trust God wills for me.

The average healthy person might make it into the 80s or 90s, but such lifespans are negligible when we look at others of God’s creations. The longest-lived of all living creatures, however, are plants. Among the oldest are trees, particularly those categorized as “clonal colonies.” Some of these date back many thousands of years to some original plant of which they are descendant clones. I’m sorry, but I don’t consider these natural clones individually ancient. When it comes to old plants, I want to know about a tree or some other plant that is itself very, very old. There are a few. Among the oldest — and as you might expect there’s a lot of controversy surrounding these claims — is a tree rooted in California, a 5,000-year-old Great Basin bristlecone pine. It’s truly an interesting looking tree, although it’s small size belies it’s extreme age. (See the photo below.)

California’s Bristlecone Pine

If you’re interested in reading about others among these aged plants, here’s a link: Oldest Living Things

As for animals, a long life is probably the result of genetic advantages aided by a kind of learned and instinctive wisdom. A long-lived animal in the wild has likely learned how to survive any number of perils that could have taken its life in a literal heartbeat. Others, perhaps, enjoy rather sedentary lives in a relatively protective environment. If they survive the threats of their first years, some species often live quite long lives. Giant tortoises, for example, are known to live upwards of 200 years, making them the longest living land animals. I don’t believe they’re particularly active creatures and I know nothing of their intelligence, but they look wise enough as they plod along quietly munching vegetation.

Ancient Tortoise

I once read of a Macaw 🦜 that outlived three generations of owners. A man in his sixties purchased the newly hatched bird from a pet shop. Although the man died just a few years later, he willed the bird to his daughter, a wife and mother in her 40s. When she died 30 years later, the bird, at the age of 35, was adopted by her eldest son, who by then was in his 50s. He, too, died in his 70s, and by then the bird was only a middle-aged 56. The family decided to donate the bird to a local zoo where he still lives today in his early 70s. I guess there’s a lesson here: If you want a Macaw as a pet, get it when you’re young.  

There are many other long-lived animals. Elephants often survive into their 70s, but the longest lived creatures tend to make their homes in the ocean. Like those old tortoises, bowhead whales can live to be 200. And a Japanese koi named Hanako died a few years ago at the ripe old age of 226. Greenland sharks can swim around for hundreds of years, some thought to live past 500, making them the longest-lived vertebrate. It must be the cold water and the seafood diet. Presumably, though, these sharks don’t eat ocean quahogs, a nice edible clam that is also known to live to be 500. 

Greenland Shark

 Most animals, though, have relatively short lives. I often think of the dogs that have joined our family. As a child I grew up with four different dogs, but the longest-lived only made it to 13. And during our 53 years of marriage Diane and I have also shared our lives with four dogs. Our current dog, Maddie, is actually quite spry for a canine who will be 14 in January. Because she is a Bichon Frise, she is genetically stubborn and a certified brat. That’s right, we should have suspected as much when we adopted her from a Bichon rescue group that called itself, “The Brat Pack.” Both we and the dog have, however, adjusted to this reality and come to a kind of understanding: Maddie obeys us when it suits her to do so. But she also offers great affection. We hope she stays with us for a few more years.

Maddie Sleeping As I Write

I’m not a PETA supporter because they believe and say some extremely stupid and very wrong things about people and animals. But I do enjoy all of God’s creatures, even the seemingly nasty ones, and believe we have an obligation to treat them humanely. God gave us responsibility for the creatures of the earth: 

“And God blessed them, and God said to them, "Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it; and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over every living thing that moves upon the earth" [Gen 1:28].

Of course, based on recent news reports, Dr. Fauci seems to disagree with the humane treatment of animals. The sad news describes horribly cruel and deadly experiments on dogs which he apparently supported. I won’t repeat the details here, but you can read them at this link: Fauci’s Puppy Experiments. Almost as bad is a story out of the now openly totalitarian nation of Australia. It seems officials ordered that the dogs held at a dog pound had to be shot dead. Why? Because rescuers were due to pick up the dogs from the shelter and the officials were concerned that the rescuers might possibly have COVID. Here’s that link: Aussies Shoot the Dogs. 

These are just a couple of the problems that arise when governments decide to exert control over all aspects of the lives of citizens. Power misused begets cruelty, hatred, persecution of opponents, and usually death. Just consider the thousands of nursing home deaths in New York and other states caused by the thoughtless decisions of governors addicted to near absolute power.

God bless the earth and all its creatures, the young and the old, the wise and the not so wise.

Strange Times, Stranger Thoughts

Corruption and more. Okay, I’m bothered by odd thoughts during these even odder times. For example, a few weeks ago I told Diane I was pretty sure that, whatever the ultimate outcome of the election, Joe Biden would not be the sitting president two years from now. I simply believed that, should he be elected, corruption or dementia or other health issues would catch up with him and force him out of office. As a long-time resident of The Villages, I know that many 78-year-old men are in excellent physical and mental shape and could no doubt handle the rigors and demands of the presidency...but not all. And Joe...well, he just doesn't seem to be running on all cylinders these days. Should Biden depart office ahead of schedule — something I believe many of the movers and shakers who supported him have planned for — Kamala Harris would become president, a possibility that should frighten anyone with any sense. It should certainly cause serious concern for any believing Christian or Jew. 

Thank God for God, Who remains in charge of our decaying world. We need to pray, folks. As St. Paul reminded us in today's liturgy:

Rejoice always. Pray without ceasing. In all circumstances give thanks, for this is the will of God for you in Christ Jesus. Do not quench the Spirit. Do not despise prophetic utterances. Test everything: retain what is good. refrain fro every kind of evil [1 Thes 5:16-22].

Read these words every day, to remind yourself to follow God's will, and that everything in our lives calls for rejoicing and prayers of thankfulness. These words of St. Paul also make an excellent brief examination of conscience.

Oddity in St. Peter’s Square. Did you happen to catch the sneak peek offered to the public of the so-called Nativity scene destined for St. Peter's Square? Only one word can adequately describe it: hideous! Some call it art, but I prefer to label it trash. I have no problem with much contemporary art, and actually have a couple of signed prints from Dali and Chagall, along with works of several other modern artists. But this Nativity display has to be the ugliest ever devised, certainly the ugliest ever displayed publicly by the Church. That the Church founded by Jesus Christ would consider this an appropriate symbol to represent our Savior’s birth boggles the mind. Take a look:

Such a heartwarming a scene! But even more bizarre, and uglier still, is this unique pair of characters who resemble escapees from a low-budget Star Wars wannabe movie.

Okay, that sheep kinda resembles a sheep, one suffering from a disease of his wool coat, but want exactly are the others? I first thought they were an astronaut and an alien, but perhaps they represent those who must wear HAZMAT gear during the current pandemic. Who knows?

Of course the "angelic" figure that towers over the entire scene is especially bothersome:

And to show how deeply affected were those among the faithful privileged to view the preview, one Italian observer noted: 

"Ugliness is the first thing you notice, followed by a lack of familial warmth and the distancing guaranteed by the cylindrical figures. If you wish to judge harshly, the cylinders call to mind the sacred poles of Satanic cults condemned in the Bible." 

Yes, indeed, it looks like something one would expect to find when excavating a pagan Canaanite temple.

I’m pretty sure Pope Francis had nothing to do with the decision to display this ugly collection of weirdness, but he has unfortunately surrounded himself with folks who probably believe it to be a perfect depiction of the familiar scene described by St. Luke. I'll assume the pope has not yet seen it. After all, he recently tweeted:

"Accompanied by the Mother of Jesus on the journey towards Christmas, in these times that are difficult for many, let us make an effort to rediscover the great hope and joy brought to us by the coming of the Son of God into the world." 

In no way does this display bring joy and hope into the hearts of those who encounter it. In early November the pope also published an apostolic letter on the importance and meaning of the Nativity scene first introduced by St. Francis of Assisi. It's quite good and you can read a synopsis of this letter here: Admirabile signum.

 

One would hope the more sensible among the Church's Vatican hierarchy would perhaps decide this display should be discretely removed from public view and tucked away deeply in the Vatican's Secret Archives. Otherwise the children of Rome may be troubled by weeks of nightmares.

Empty Churches? If you've read this blog for a while, you'll know that Maddie and I take a twice-daily walk through the surrounding neighborhoods. Maddie's a remarkable dog and will often lead me to people in some need. One day, early last week, I had decided to go one way, but Maddie wouldn't budge. She finally turned toward the opposite direction and tugged at the leash. Accepting that her sixth sense probably had some purpose, I agreed. After walking perhaps 50 yards, she noticed a man coming towards us, so she sat down and waited for him to arrive. An older man, perhaps in his early 80s, he seemed vaguely familiar. 

As he approached us he smiled and said, "Deacon, can you help me?" Maddie, of course, simply displayed her standard Bichon smile as I said, "Sure, what's up?" 

"I have a new rosary that needs to be blessed. I'd take it to the Church, but my wife won't let me attend Mass. Too dangerous. Can you bless it for me?" Of course I agreed, so he said he'd bring it by the house and let me bless it. Then he added, "I really miss the Eucharist. Not being able to receive Jesus is the worst part of all this."

I didn't want to come between him and his wife, so I thought it best simply to suggest attending a daily Mass on occasion since weekday congregations are usually smaller, and he and his wife might feel more comfortable.

Anyway, he got me thinking, about the pandemic and our response to it. Not long ago I read a Real Clear Science article addressing the pandemic guidelines in the United States. Among their conclusions was this comment, focused particularly on Catholic churches in the U.S.: "For Catholic churches following these guidelines, no outbreaks of COVID-19 have been linked to church attendance." They also discovered no evidence of viral transmission even when tracing systems picked up examples of asymptomatic people who were infected, but didn't know it, and attended Mass. In other words, attending Mass at Catholic churches where appropriate measures have been taken, is probably the safest public activity in which one can engage.

The larger and more troubling issue, however, is the attempt by government officials to decide what kind of worship is permitted in their city or state. Any attempt by government to control religious worship, especially when the church involved takes special precautions to protect their congregations, is a direct violation of the United States Constitution. But apart from this, such actions also disregard basic human rights. 

In a recent interview, Fr. Thomas White, O.P., Director of the Thomistic Institute at the Angelicum in Rome, stated that we cannot separate a person's right to believe from his right to take part in public worship. He argued, correctly I believe, that public officials are attempting "to designate theologically what the Church's internal self-understanding should be with regards to worship, and that's an unsustainable approach with engagement to the Church." In other words, no secular government should decide how we worship. Fr. White goes on to stress that the state must not infringe on the most fundamental human rights; for example, the rights to marry, to work, or to worship. He calls such infringement, "an act of spiritual totalitarianism."

Too many bishops seem to have allowed city and state authorities to call the shots when it comes to worship. It would be nice for the faithful if they would say, "We are taking proper and reasonable precautions, but the decision to do so is reserved to the Church and will not be ceded to the state." No mayor or governor may control the Church's celebration of the sacraments, especially the Eucharist. We are a Eucharistic Church and must find ways to ensure the faithful can receive the graces the Holy Spirit extends to us through the sacraments. How did St. Paul put it? "Do not quench the Spirit."

My concern is that the fears that keep people from attending Mass will remain and alter their long-term concept of Mass attendance. Our faith is centered on the Real Presence of Jesus Christ in the Eucharist and the community worship of the Triune God. This simply does not happen with online Masses. Given the attitudes of state authorities, the legal precedents being set, and the acquiescence of the people and too many in the Church, I worry that the future Church in America may more closely resemble the underground Churches that struggle to survive in the world's totalitarian states.

Loitering

A friend sent me the following definition -- a wee bit cynical, perhaps -- coining a new word:

Coronacoaster (noun): the ups and downs of a pandemic. One day you're loving your bubble, working out, baking banana bread, and going for long walks; and then you're crying, drinking gin for breakfast, and missing people you don't even like. 

Yes, indeed, although I can speak only for myself, the past few months haven't always been easy or enjoyable. Being forced to spend so much time at home, away from life's usual activities, is something I'll never really get used to. I've sometimes been accused of being a homebody, but this is ridiculous. Unable to get together with many of our friends, unable to enjoy those group dinners at restaurants, unable to travel, unable to see family...we're all just hanging out, not doing much of anything. What they used to call loitering has become the new normal. 

Of course, if you've been around a while, you'll remember that loitering was often prosecuted as a criminal act. I recall as a kid, back in the fifties, occasionally hearing about someone being arrested for loitering. We lived in an affluent New York suburb, so I suppose our town's finest did not look kindly on anyone just hanging around too long with no obvious purpose. Loitering, it seems, was considered the likely prelude to other, more serious crimes. 

Although those arrested in our town were never locals, I doubt if many were planning major crimes. Most were simply down on their luck -- men we then, unkindly, called "bums" -- and probably made their way to our town in the hope that someone might give them some work, some food, or a dollar or two. I can remember my mom making a nice, thick sandwich for the occasional wanderer who came to the door asking for food. This calls to mind the Gospel parable of vineyard workers who just hung out all day (loitered?) in the marketplace hoping to be hired [Mt 20:1016].

Serious Team Loitering

And remember the door-to-door salesmen -- the Fuller Brush man and others who walked from house to house looking for business? These were honest, hard-working men, but what a difficult way to earn a living! Mom always bought something from them. It might not have been very much, but it was something. They certainly weren't loitering, but today they've been banned in many communities -- a sign of the more dangerous and self-centered times in which we live.

The "Fuller Brush Man"

Back then, and perhaps still today, the criminality of loitering was dependent on one's position in the community. I suspect any of our town's notable citizens could have loitered with impunity whenever and however long they desired without fear of arrest. Few probably did so because they were too busy doing whatever it took to make the money that enabled them to live in our town. Yes, they were relatively wealthy, but most were good, hard-working, and generous people, who willingly supported many fine charities. But writing a check is one thing, while getting up close and personal with those in need is something else entirely. I think too many of our neighbors missed out on that aspect of our human condition.

Is loitering still considered a crime today? I really don't know, but I doubt if many people are arrested for just hanging out. Ok, maybe in Palm Beach, or apparently in Morristown, NJ (see below photo). But in most cities the police are probably far too busy dealing with murders, robberies, rapes, looting, arson, and other serious crimes to worry about loitering.

No Loitering in Morristown, NJ

I actually hope law enforcement has back-burnered loitering because it’s become one of my favorite activities since I retired. Maddie (our 12-year-old Bichon Frise) and I loiter a lot here in The Villages, but we do so innocently, without nefarious purpose. It seems, too, that the amount of time this sweet dog spends loitering is directly proportional to her age, another thing she and I have in common. Maddie’s loitering, of course, is purposeful. She must sniff and decipher the odors that attack her remarkable sense of smell. Because these attacks are constant, we don’t move very quickly and could easily be accused of loitering. 

Maddie, Ready for Our Morning Loiter

Unlike Maddie, though, I learn very little by sniffing, so I simply wait for her as patiently as possible. But I also use this time to examine the steady stream of thoughts that attack my brain as I observe the tiny piece of God's universe that surrounds us as we walk and loiter. One problem, though. Because we’re out and about, I’m unable to write down these reflections and by the time we get home, I’ve often forgotten them. Another sad consequence of aging.

Lately, however, I’ve been spending a lot of time in waiting rooms while Diane undergoes rehab or dental work. (Because of her still recovering shoulder, she is unable to drive, so I've become her personal chauffer.) In fact, at the moment I'm loitering in the waiting room of her rehab facility. With my iPad resting on my lap, I am able to capture and reflect on the thoughts that manage to slip past my defenses.

This leads to another question. Can one loiter while seated, or is loitering strictly a standing around activity? I suppose it depends on the venue. Loitering in a bank is probably a stand-up offence. Unlike hotel lobbies, bank lobbies usually don't have chairs and sofas scattered about. Bankers, concerned about potential robberies, probably wouldn't want to make loitering (aka, casing the joint) too comfortable. 

Bus stations are different. I recall, back in 1963, sitting in a near empty Port Authority bus terminal in Manhattan. On that cold, Sunday afternoon in February, I waited impatiently for a bus to take me back to Washington, D.C. A freshman at Georgetown U., I'd been invited to spend a weekend with a young lady and her family at their ritzy, Central Park West apartment. (She went to Vassar, probably out of my league.) I think our brief relationship came to a screeching halt when I said I'd have to take the bus since I didn't have enough cash to pay for the Eastern Airlines shuttle flight.

Anyway, as I sat in the terminal waiting, I witnessed a man being arrested for what I think was loitering. Of indeterminate age, he was stretched out on the next bench, and would occasionally waken to take a sip from a bottle cleverly disguised as a paper bag. He didn't bother me at all, because when I'd arrived he actually sat up, said, "How ya doin', kid?", and offered me a swig out of the bag. Naturally, I declined but thanked him for his offer. A nice man living a troubled life. 

Waking Up the Homeless

After about an hour, just as they announced my bus was ready for boarding, two large Port Authority policemen approached the man, gently lifted him up by his arms, and literally carried him off, telling him he was under arrest. At first it saddened me because this generous man seemed so harmless, so tired, and so comfortable dozing on his bench. But later I realized they had likely taken him to a cell where he could sleep it off, a far better and safer outcome than just throwing him out into the cold. 

We live in a strange world, one so very different from the world in which I came of age. I think I prefer those earlier years when things at least appeared to be more clearly defined. Today we don't seem to know what to do about the homeless, the mentally ill, the addicted, and the chronically unemployed. No human society, including our own, past and present, is perfect. Maybe we need to turn to the Gospel and let God show us how to love the least of his brothers and sisters in ways that lift them up from the condition in which the world has left them.

Walking with Maddie

Dear Diane has been sleeping in the guest room for a while because of her shoulder replacement surgery and its aftereffects. Unfortunately she awakens often during the night, because she either slept on the wrong side or used her right arm a bit too much the day before. Either way it results in pain. So she sits up and reads or watches TV until the pain subsides. In her kindness she thought this would disturb my sleep. (She was right about that.) She decided, therefore, to sleep in the guest room, leaving me in the king size bed with Maddie, our 12-year-old Bichon Frise.

Now, I'm sure many of your will chastise us for letting our dog sleep in our bed. But when we "rescued" Maddie she was already five years old and pretty set in her ways. She had also been mistreated and was a bit of a psychological wreck. In fact, the rescue vet had put her on a doggie version of Prozac. Although we got her off her meds quickly, she still needed lots of loving attention. Given her age and condition, we thought it would be difficult, perhaps even a bit cruel, to attempt to crate train her. The result? She sleeps in our bed. You must also understand that she's a Bichon, and is a perfect example of this stubborn, self-centered breed.

Because the bed is large and she's a small dog, you'd think I wouldn't even know if she were there. But every morning, long before sunrise, usually between 5 and 6 a.m., Maddie snuggles up against my back and leans into me. She'll keep this up for a half-hour or so, increasing the pressure, hoping I'll decide to get up. When I resist, as I did today, she begins to whine softly, letting me know she's ready to begin her day and expects me to join her, first by preparing her breakfast and then taking her on a long walk.

Maddie on Her Morning Walk

This morning Maddie woke me a bit later than usual, and the whining didn't begin until after 6:30. Within 30 minutes she had eaten, I was dressed, and we opened the front door to greet another of God's gifts: a beautiful day in The Villages -- Sunny and 64 F this morning, but a warm 88 F this afternoon. 

Although sunrise was still 15 or 20 minutes away, the eastern sky was already aglow. Indeed, by this time I could see only a few of the sky's brightest objects. Toward the southeast only Jupiter stood out, as befits the god of the sky. Neighboring Mars and Saturn were still visible but barely. Vega could be seen near the zenith, but the other stars were fading quickly. 

As I looked heavenward, Maddie of course looked earthward, continuing her life's work of sniffing everything that passes under her remarkable nose. And so we walked, slowly to accommodate her sniffing and in whatever direction Maddie chose. 

Today's walk followed a rather long (about two miles) circuitous route through several nearby neighborhoods. Because of so many businesses are closed, we encountered very little car and golf cart traffic. This, of course, is good since dogs and those walking them seem to be invisible to many drivers. But even more surprising was the increase in walkers and runners. Most mornings, especially in the pre-dawn darkness, I may see only one or two people. But today lots of folks, both individuals and couples, were out walking. It was nice to see so many people enjoying the morning. I suppose for many it was a cure for cabin fever, offering a temporary respite from voluntary home confinement.

But then there was that one oddity. Maddie and I had been walking for only a few minutes when we turned onto a side street and noticed about a dozen people, well spaced out to enforce social distancing, but all walking in our direction. Without a sidewalk and almost no traffic, they had filled the street. Like all of us who live here, they were elderly. None moved very quickly and some limped along trying to keep up. Now, it was still early, and with the almost risen sun behind them, they were all shadows and silhouettes. If you can picture the scene, you might understand why my strange mind suddenly announced: Zombie Apocalypse! I'm sorry but I felt as if I had fallen into a scene from one of those wacko zombie movies. Of course, as we passed, everyone smiled and greeted us, a few petted Maddie, and no one tried to eat my brains.

Except for the rare zombie scare, I truly enjoy these daily walks. Today we spotted a gator in one of the many neighborhood ponds: not a very big one, but big enough for me to keep my distance. We witnessed some early morning repositioning flights of water birds, and followed a large flock of white ibises as they flew from one pond to another. A large blue heron passed right over us, so low we could feel the effect of his wings. We watched a kingfisher as he hovered  anxiously, then plummeted into the water and grabbed his breakfast. That same peaceful, healthy, virus-free air was filled with the greetings of mockingbirds, cardinals, red-wing blackbirds, and countless other songbirds. From stars and planets to birds and gators, it was all a wonderful display of God's creative power. Even Maddie glanced up on occasion and seemed to savor the day.

Lots of Ibises

I feel sorry for those unable to get out and take even a short walk, but I especially pity those who walk or run daily, but do so without noticing the beauty that surrounds them. They look so grim as they strain forward to reach their 10,000 steps, eyes glued to the road before them, while the noise in their earbuds blocks the greetings of passersby and the sounds of nature. Life is just too short to ignore the wonders that surround us.

Maddie with her Reward

When we returned home Maddie and I decided she deserved a special treat, one of those milk bones for large dogs. You see, she doesn't realize she's little.

God's peace, friends, and stay healthy.

Maddie, My Teacher

How nice it is to have a day off...no meetings, no obligations, just a day to take it easy. As it turned out Maddie, the wonderdog, seemed very happy that I had nowhere to go and would spend the day with her and Diane. The only time we left the house -- and we took Maddie with us -- was to take advantage of early voting in the Florida primary elections.

Maddie, Wonderdog

Anyway, this day with Maddie got me thinking about how remarkably intelligent she is and what she has taught me. Other than Dear Diane, who in her kindness knows best how to remind me of my many weaknesses and encourage me in my few strengths, I believe it is our little Maddie, a ten year old Bichon Frise, who has become my most reliable teacher. 

Yes, indeed, I have become my dog's student. I suspect most dog owners would recoil at such a thought. Dogs are to be trained, fed, played with, walked, and exercised. From this we in turn reap the benefit of their company and their seemingly blind loyalty. I suppose for most people, who share their homes with a dog, this is a reasonable quid pro quo. It was certainly a sufficient trade-off for me and the many dogs I enjoyed before Maddie joined our household. They were all good dogs...OK, a couple had some mild sanity issues. But none ever taught me very much. Or, perhaps more accurately, I wasn't very receptive to their teaching. Aha! You see, I continue to learn. Often enough it's the receptivity of the student that determines the quality of the teaching. Maybe those earlier dogs tried their best to share their canine wisdom with me, but I was simply too wrapped up in my humanity to grasp and absorb their teaching. Perhaps, then, it is the more mature and open person I have become that has made little Maddie such an effective teacher. But, regardless, she does teach me, and her lessons frequently call to mind truths of Sacred Scripture. That's right! Maddie's lessons are the seeds that bear some very fruitful scriptural meditation. 

This should be expected. On the sixth day, right before He created man, 

"God made the beasts of the earth according to their kinds and the cattle according to their kinds, and everything that creeps upon the ground according to its kind. And God saw that it was good" [Gen 1:25]. 

As for dogs, I've always believed the Holy Spirit on that day instilled in them a special nature and intelligence -- "according to their kind" -- something greater than that possessed by the average beast. "The Lord, the giver of life" gave the dog a unique nature that makes it especially compatible as man's loyal companion and workmate. Not only was the dog specially created, but it's been around longer than we have and can perhaps teach us a few things.

"But now ask the beasts to teach you, the birds of the air to tell you; or speak to the earth to instruct you, and the fish of the sea to inform you. Which of these does not know that the hand of God has done this? In His hand is the soul of every living thing, and the life breath of all mortal flesh" [Job 12:7-10].

As I describe Maddie's teaching and the lessons that derive from it, I'll just point to what I believe to be relevant passages  and let you dig into your Bibles should you wish to pursue each more deeply.

These lessons begin early each day. Maddie and I are both morning people -- OK , she's a morning dog, but you know what I mean. We are both at our best in the hours shortly before and after dawn:

"Rising very early before dawn, He left and went off to a deserted place, where He prayed" [Mk 1:35].

"I rise before dawn and cry out; I put my hope in your words" [Ps 119:147].

I rise first, throw on a pair of shorts and a shirt, make the coffee, pray the Church's Morning Prayer, and then retrieve the newspaper from the driveway. I suppose I feel a bit superior because I rise before most others in my time zone, or at least in my neighborhood. I am reminded of the words of the psalmist:

"It is vain for you to rise early and put off your rest at night, to eat bread earned by hard toil -- all this God gives to his beloved sheep" [Ps 127:2].

Maddie still sleeps, but after about 30 minutes she rises and greets me. She neither drinks coffee nor reads newspapers, so it makes sense to grab an extra half-hour of sleep. She does, however, pray. Indeed, every beast prays through its very existence, a sign of God's creative love, a sign revealed through His prophet Daniel:

"All you beasts, wild and tame. bless the Lord; praise and exalt Him above all forever" [Dan 3:81].

Despite the fact that she wakes up hungry, Maddie usually lies at my feet, quietly and patiently. She always allows me time to read the paper and sip my coffee, thus setting an example for all of us who are called to wait patiently: 

"Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? Bur if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience" [Rom 8:24-25].

Eventually, though, she lets her stomach speak. She sits up, wags her tail enthusaistically, stares at me intently, and utters a series of muted but mildly irritating high-pitched whines. This, she has learned, motivates the lazy, distracted me to act. In truth I see myself as little better than the unjust judge of the parable, pestered by the widow who won't cease requesting justice:

"...because this widow keeps bothering me I shall deliver a just decision for her lest she finally come and strike me" [Lk 18:5].

Take some time to read and meditate on the entire parable [Lk 18:1-8]. There is much good to be found there.

And of course, as Maddie realizes, it is only just that I who accepted the responsibility to care for her, should be willing to feed her when she is hungry.

After eating, Maddie most often curls up in her little bed and rests for a while. Like Our Lord, she seems to know that both food and rest are necessary for the disciple who does God's work:

"He said to them, 'Come away by yourselves to a deserted place and rest a while.' People were coming and going in great numbers, and they had no opportunity even to eat" [Mk 6:31].

But it's not long, perhaps another half-hour, before she again lets me know -- more wagging, staring, and whining -- that it's time for our morning walk. The length of our walks varies, determined largely by the weather. But most Florida mornings are pleasant enough to allow for a longish walk, say 30 to 60 minutes. 

Walking, of course, is a good thing, depending on its purpose. For me it offers a time and place for prayer and an opportunity to contemplate God's greatness through His gifts.

"Arise, walk through the land, across its length and breadth, for I give it to you" [Gen 13:17].

"And walk in love, as Christ loved us and gave Himself up for us, a fragrant offering and a sacrifice to God"  [Eph 5:2].

During these walks Maddie and I converse about all kinds of things. In fact, a few of the neighbors, have occasionally remarked, "Oh, yes, I hear you when you walk your dog, talking to her. How interesting..." I suspect that someone, somewhere in the vast bureaucratic wasteland we politely call "government", has started a file with my name on it. Conspiracy theory? I don't think so.

But did you know that "experts" -- that is, those who spend taxpayer money on such things -- claim that the average intelligent dog has a vocabulary of upwards of 200 words? I don't find this at all surprising. My conversations with Maddie during our walks only confirm this -- something, by the way, I concluded without expending a single tax dollar. 

Let me describe a typical conversation during one of these early morning walks. (Note: Maddie is an adept at what the experts call non-verbal communication, and her expertise is bi-directional: she both "sees" what I'm saying and communicates through both expression and posture.)

When I mention the word "walk" and she hears the noise associated with my retrieval of harness and leash, she heads for the front door. Overflowing with excitement, she begins the game of hiding from the harness. This "game" lasts only a few seconds, but it must be played. Once the harness is on, I tell her to "shake" which she does in a remarkable display of bodily control, a rapid progression of high-speed shakes that moves from head to tail in less than two seconds. Leash attached, she moves to the door, but glances at me over her right shoulder, and I hear the words, "OK, I'm ready. No hesitation. Let's move." And I'm reminded of the need always to be enthusiastic in our faith. When that which is good calls, there should be no hesitation:

"Never flag in zeal, be aglow with the Spirit, serve the Lord" [Rom 12:11]

"He said to them, 'Come after me, and I will make you fishers of men.' At once they left their nets and followed Him" [Mt 4:19-20]

When we reach the end of the driveway, I ask her, "Which way today?" She looks right, then left, and finally decides. 

Again, without hesitation she moves down the street with obvious purpose. 

I jokingly accuse Maddie of suffering from that dreaded canine syndrome, OCS, or Obsessive Compulsive Sniffing. I've learned to live with it and allow her to apply fully her remarkable olfactory talents. The process engages her so completely that all other sensory inputs seem to be ignored. If I speak to her, even using words that would normally bring an instant reaction -- for example, "treat" or "doggie" -- she doesn't react but continues to sample the scents left behind by other of God's creatures. At some point she decides she knows all there is to know and reengages with me. Watching her I'm reminded of St. Paul's advice to stay focused: 

"I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. Let those of us who are mature be thus minded; and if in anything you are otherwise minded, God will reveal that also to you" [Phil 3:14-15]

This morning, as we sniffed our way along one of the neighborhood streets, we encountered Angel and her master. Angel, a small terrier-like dog, is both blind and deaf, and navigates using her sense of smell alone. Maddie seems to understand Angel's disability and always approaches her gingerly so as not to surprise her. Angel senses Maddie's presence at some distance and turns toward us. They sniff noses and share friendly canine greetings. To Maddie Angel's disability is nothing strange, nothing remarkable. She doesn't shy away. She doesn't avoid her. She treats her just as she would any other dog, with enthusiasm. What a lesson for us. Read Mark's narrative of the healing of the blind Bartimaeus at the gate of Jericho. Note the condescending way the disciples treated this blind man:

"On hearing that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to cry out and say, 'Jesus, son of David, have pity on me.' And many rebuked him, telling him to be silent. But he kept calling out all the more, 'Son of David, have pity on me.' Jesus stopped and said, 'Call him.' So they called the blind man, saying to him, 'Take courage; get up, he is calling you'" [Mk 10:47-49].

Read the complete narrative [Mk 10:48-52] and then ask yourself, "Who is the true disciple here?" Perhaps the so-called disciples should take a lesson from Maddie.

I won't bore you with more of my conversations with Maddie. But I trust she will continue to educate me, continue to show me God's Word in action. She's quite a dog.

 (Just a quick aside for all you cat lovers out there. The largest of dogs can still be a faithful companion, the kind one would trust with a small child. But large cats simply don't posses a nature compatible with domestication. Would you leave a child in the care of a Cheetah? The loyalty of even most small cats is greatly suspect, and seems more directed to self than to another...just one man's opinion.)

Healthy Again

To  my loyal readers, to that very small group who for some reason actually pay attention to these occasional words of mine, I am back once again. The reason for my extended absence was a bout with the flu that came on sometime around the first of the year. Despite having been inoculated by the flu vaccine several months ago, I was still struck by this nasty bug. I won't go into details, but will say only that I was out of commission for several weeks. I am now healthy once again although I'm trying to slow down a bit and not compromise my somewhat weakened immune system.

Of course Dear Diane was the perfect care-giver during all of this. She fed  me lots of her restorative homemade chicken soup and let me complain and whine without comment. The folks at our local urgent care quickly diagnosed the problem and prescribed a bunch of meds that eased the worst of the symptoms and speeded my recovery. As I'm sure you have heard, this particular strain of influenza is very dangerous and has taken the lives of many, especially among the young and the elderly. I suppose at 73 I fall into the latter category. So I offer a prayer of thanksgiving that God has for some reason decided I should stick around for a while longer.

In the midst of all this, Maddie, our little 10-year-old Bichon was also diagnosed with a problem. She suffered a typical football injury and tore the ACL ( the anterior cruciate ligament) on her left, hind leg. We knew something was wrong when she started walking on three legs. But unlike us, she suffered pain without complaint and merely adapted.

We took her to the vet who immediately recommended surgery to repair the tear. I won't discuss the cost of this procedure except to say it 's forced a modest change in lifestyle.

An unhappy Maddie the day after surgery

Maddie underwent the surgery about two weeks ago, and believe me she went home with us that afternoon very unhappy. In fact that first night the little thing cried until dawn when I was finally able to get to swallow a pain pill. Since then, however, her recovery has been remarkable. The vet removed the stitches on Friday and Maddie's been testing her repaired leg a little more each day. I am amazed at the toughness of these little creatures, and how quickly they recover. They seem to know exactly how to conduct their own rehabilitation and physical therapy, something we humans have to hire smarter people to do for us. Anyway, it's good have her back, almost to her former bouncy self.

And thanks to all those parishioners and the many others who have kept me (and Maddie) in their prayers. Prayer does make a difference, folks, all the difference in the world!

God's peace...