God made a dog, and I think I know why.

When God wrapped up His creative work with the appearance of a two-legged homosapien, both male and female, the events set in motion were almost perfect. To call God’s work “almost” perfect is quite bold. I know this. But hear me out.

To use His own words, “it is good.” Good is not perfect. There was something missing. Don’t tar and feather me, yet.

God knew that as good as man was for woman and woman for man, they would always have a hard time understanding His unconditional love for them. He saw the apple fall from the tree before it ever happened. He knew that man’s ability to love and to understand love would be compromised. Love would always be tainted by expectations and doubts and fears unless he could show them a perfect love. Unless he gave them a creature with the capacity to love unconditionally, they would never get His love.

A rhinoceros was His first thought, but you’d never get one in the back seat of a SUV.

So, God made a dog.

As I pull into the Vet’s office this morning the sun is barely above the eastern horizon. I park beneath the huge hickory and roll my window down. The sunlight’s streaming low and hard at my windshield. The fescue pasture in front of me is freshly mown. A white board fence crosses in front of me. There are two large oaks in the distant pasture backlit by the sun. Even though the grass is a deep green, it looks like it’s tinged with gold as it reflects the morning light. The scattered leaves of fall dance across the carpet of green as the canopies overhead flutter in the breeze.

I wonder if heaven must look like this. Serene. Peaceful. A glow to everything in sight.

Max is in the back seat pacing between the doors. He has been in constant motion the last 8 days. I am here for the second time in a week, and I am weary of what today may hold.

When God saw all the pain in a broken world, He knew that man would need a friend with a special mission. This human He created needed a companion who could touch his soul without words. There would be times when a man didn’t want to be judged. He didn’t want to have to explain himself to anyone. All he wanted was to have a friend who was loyal and faithful and who could heal his heart by just being by his side.

So, God made a dog.

Dr. Mike came out to the truck and asked me if I needed any help getting Max to the exam room.

“I’ll have to lift him out of the back. He can’t get down, but I can handle him.”

“I’ll see you inside, then.”

The disorientation I see in Max is hard to describe. In so many ways he is still the Max I’ve always known. If you were to see him standing here outside my truck, you’d say he’s fine. But he has quit responding to his name. He can’t seem to tell which way he is supposed to go. His legs are unsure. It’s like a canine version of dementia has stolen his spirit.

God knew that there would be days when a man didn’t want anything complicated in his life. Work is consuming. The responsibilities pile up. He thought to Himself that what a man needs is to give a belly rub, or play catch, or go for a ride, or take a nap in the shade. He thought about long walks and hunting and spending an afternoon at the park. He wanted man to have a buddy in his life that would go anywhere and do anything just so they could spend time together.

So, God made a dog.

The conversation with Dr. Mike was candid. I told him to speak freely. In my gut I knew he had a gut feeling about these things. He’s been doctoring on dogs for 40 years. He’s seen it all. I was pretty sure he didn’t need a specialist to confirm what he knew about Max.

He talked about all the tests he could do or have done and how invasive they would be. Then he got to the point.

“Mostly likely the symptoms Max is presenting point to a neurological disorder caused by an intercranial mass.”

I drew in a long breath. I knew in my heart that this was not going to be an easy day. We talked about possible treatments, but nothing was going to bring Max back to normal. The right meds, if strong enough, could maybe buy him a few more weeks, but there would be side effects. Harsh ones. And his quality of life would not improve.

God took one look at man and knew how attached he would be to his things. He would love his golf clubs and fishing rods. He would take possession of the TV remote and defy anyone who would try to take it from him. He would buy way too many pairs of house shoes and tennis shoes and work boots. More than anyone could possibly need. What man needed was a creature who would take those things and chew them to smithereens so that man could gain some perspective on what’s important in life.

So, God made a dog.

I said my goodbyes to Max. I was sitting. He stuck his nose up between my legs and I cradled his head in my arms. He could barely stand. I lifted his head so I could see his eyes, but I couldn’t really tell if he saw me. I know he heard me. I confess, a few tears found their way down my cheeks. I told Dr. Mike that I didn’t care to be in the room.

I came to the Vet today with my best buddy. I left with only his leash and collar in my hand. His bed in the back floorboard was empty as I drove home. I took his collar and put it in the vise in my shop. The brass plate bearing his name was riveted to the collar. I drilled out the rivets so I could keep the plate. “Max Chappell” it says, with my phone number beneath it.

Max came to me at a time when he needed to be free to be dog. I gave him that freedom. He had the tree farm to himself. He had the woods and the creek at my house. He had his choice of his bed or any carpet in any room he chose to sleep in at night. He lived well. He was loved well.

He also came to me because God knew I would need him during my time of grief. Without ever saying a word, his company helped heal me. His joy gave me joy. His playfulness made me laugh. His loyal companionship helped me live life more fully.

That’s why God made a dog.

And today, Max ran home to the One who made him.