I’m lying on my back, eyes closed, arms at my side, as the DVD directs me to relax and breathe deeply.

As a general rule, I don’t exercise. I did join a gym, once, taking advantage of a free month-long trial membership at a new facility that opened near my house. I wanted to take a Pilates class, but when they said the group met at 6:30 a.m. my body went into total revolt. “We don’t need no stinking Pilates class,” my thighs growled. “Hey, I’m off the clock until 8:30 a.m.,” my brain shouted. My hips creaked, my back whined, and my knees protested until I had no choice but to nix the pre-dawn workout.

So here I am, lying on my living room floor in the middle of the afternoon, cursing my aging body and following along with a Pilates DVD. The virtual instructor is crooning softly - “Feel the breath coming into the body, feel the breath exiting the body” - when all of the sudden I feel warm dog breath on my face and open my eyes to find Scout standing over me, his nose just inches from mine. We make eye contact, and before I can react he’s slobbering all over my face, sticking his tongue in my eyes, my nose, my mouth.

I’m laughing so hard my stomach hurts and I’m trying to keep my lips pressed tightly together to avoid having my teeth swabbed with dog spit. I do my best to shove him off of my chest so I can breathe.

I’m sure it never occurs to Scout that I would be lying on the floor for any reason other than to play with him. In his world, every move I make revolves around him. I’m in the kitchen: he’s having a snack. I walk by the front door: he’s going out to play catch. I walk upstairs: his day is done, so he hurls himself past me on the stairs and rushes to commandeer the best place on the bed. Even if it’s daytime.

I’d be lying if I said I minded being ambushed in the midst of what was supposed to be a relaxation exercise. I’m attached to this ball of fur in a way that only another dog lover can understand, and if he needs my attention right now, he can have it.

I run my fingers down his back, kiss his snout and then wait while he settles down at my feet. As I lie there having my toes licked, I wonder if God ever wishes that I would approach him with the same enthusiasm as Scout approaches me.

It would never occur to me that when God is preparing a feast of blessings, any of it might be for me. When I know He’s near, my first instinct is to assume I’m in big trouble. I can’t imagine that God would allow me to settle in the best place - anywhere. And as for always being underfoot, how frequently do I even seek to be in His presence? I’m more likely to look at the clock and rationalize that now just isn’t a good time.

Besides, God is much too busy for my childish affections or petty needs. He’s got bigger things to deal with. I’d just be bothering him.

But when I think about it, Jesus didn’t get mad at Mary when she interrupted His dinner to pour expensive perfume on his feet, much to the dismay of those who thought it silly and wasteful. And when the woman with the flow of blood for twelve years interrupted Jesus while He was on His way revive the ruler’s daughter, did He complain? No, He healed the woman on the spot. And I’m pretty sure He smiled at her.

So would I be interrupting God just by saying hello? Or, could my cold nose in His warm side be just the thing He’s been waiting for?

I feel Scout get up and come close to curl up against me. He nestles his head on my shoulder, and with a sigh closes his eyes and begins to doze off. There will be no more exercise this morning. I close my eyes, thanking God for the interruption.


(c) 2007 Joanne Brokaw/Wonder Dog Communications
All rights reserved

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