I recently read an essay that said God is like a dog because He offers unconditional love and is always waiting for us. Clearly, I thought, the writer knows nothing about the dog-master relationship.

I’m reminded of that essay as I sit here typing, when a cold, wet nose nudges me in the side. I turn around to pat my border collie Scout on the head, and then return to my writing. A minute later, I’m nudged again, and then again, and then a wet ball drops into my lap. I’m on deadline, with no time to play, so without a word I toss the ball towards the kitchen and return to my work. But in seconds Scout is back with the ball and also a dish towel, dropping the ball at my feet and giving the towel a vigorous shake in an effort to garner my attention.

I try not to laugh while I ignore him, and he eventually leaves me in peace, but I soon hear the hissing of the cat, a yelp, and the sound of paws and claws scrambling down the stairs. Before I can get up to see who is bleeding this time, Scout is back, crawling between my legs into the small space under my desk where he can push his head up underneath my keyboard and look me right in the eye.

There will be no peace until I stop working and play.

Scout could never understand how much I enjoy his constant desire to be near me, to be almost incapacitated by a flurry of dog kisses, to have my hands wrapped around his neck and my nose buried deep in his fur.

Border collies require a lot of attention, and Scout is no exception. He can curl up on the couch and sleep the afternoon away, but that’s only if he gets his daily requirement of running, jumping and tugging. He will nudge, pull at my pant legs, woof, and eventually plant himself so close to my desk that I can’t move without noticing him. There have been times that I’ve been so engrossed in my work that I’ve surfaced from my fog to find several chew toys, the newspaper, my shoes and an exasperated dog waiting next to my chair.

I try to meet his energy needs. We walk in the morning and then every hour or so go outside to throw a ball or chase soap bubbles up and down the driveway. In the winter, I tossed snowballs until I could barely see the black in his coat from the icicles clinging to his fur.

Sometimes, Scout isn’t looking for play time as much as he is face time. He just wants to know that I haven’t forgotten that he’s there, and a pat on the head will suffice until it’s time to run laps in the yard.

In the dog-human-God equation, we humans are much more like the dogs, vying for attention from our Master and sometimes resorting to drastic measures to have the Creator’s eye on us for just a moment.

Unlike the dog-master relationship, however, our Master is never too busy to hear our petitions, from an urgent need to a plea for a gentle touch that reminds us that we are not forgotten.

Yes, God loves us unconditionally and is always waiting there for us, but not like a dog, who is subservient to his master. Our Master delights in showering us, His creation, with affection and attention, if only we would ask.



Joanne Brokaw lives in Western New York, where she spends her days blowing soap bubbles, playing fetch with her border collie Scout, and covering entertainment for Christian and community newspapers in the U.S. and Canada. Visit her online at www.joannebrokaw.com.

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