A Letter to My Dearly Departed Dog

Dear Starbuck,

Now why’d you have to go and get sick? Nobody told me it could possibly end like this.

I thought that as long as I kept you safe, preventing you from following your bionic nose and getting lost, or making sure you didn’t dart into an oncoming Buick, you’d be here for a long, long time. I thought we’d grow old together. I envisioned you getting weak with arthritis or losing your teeth so that your chew toys became dusty from lack of use. But cancer? Seriously?

Granted, I was not the most experienced pet owner when you arrived back in 2006. I hadn’t seen a dog stick around long enough to get sick and die. As a little boy there were a few dogs around our home, but they weren’t permanent. They either wandered off or got hit by cars before any serious attachment could form. We did have Pearl, an amazing German short-haired pointer. But she couldn’t handle suburban life after those years in the country and we had to give her up. Then there was Pupper, the cutest little mutt you ever did see. She was special, but I moved out of the house and then a Pontiac put her out of commission.

So, you were different. You were my first dog. And I don’t think I could have asked for a better pet. Oh, sure you had your issues: your stubbornness, your whiny separation anxiety, and the way you destroyed every dog bed I bought you quickly come to mind. But you had so many other wonderfully positive and funny habits that made owning you such joy. It would take pages to list them all. And besides, I don’t have to list them for you. You know what I’m talking about. I did my best to tell you as often as possible.

Remember that book I read last spring, “A Dog’s Purpose” by W. Bruce Cameron? I’m sure you do. We talked about it all the time. The premise is that each dog has a specific purpose here on Earth and a dog may go through numerous lives before realizing it. In the book, one such dog lives four different lives. He is able to remember events, sights, smells, locations, and people from each previous life. Written from the dog’s perspective, the author humorously used the lessons that the dog learned to weave a terrific story that ended in a thoughtful, believable manner.

You never would tell me if you’d had other lives or if you’d met other people along the way. I tried to get you to tell me if you’d discovered your purpose yet. But you were silent about that topic. In my mind, I’d say that you did fulfill your purpose. You became a wonderful friend. You received my love and care and in return you helped me through some really trying times. I discovered a side of my heart that I didn’t know I had. And I learned about the power of adoption. If it were up to me, you’ve earned your retirement package and can go straight to heaven.

But maybe you’ve moved on to another home here on Earth. Maybe you’re a chocolate lab living with a young boy struggling with Hodgkin’s disease. Or you’re a Jack Russell, comforting a new widower embarking upon a scary stage of life without his soul mate. Are you a golden retriever returning to the scene of one of your earlier homes, bringing lessons you learned from me to the aid of someone in need?

I guess I’ll never know. I don’t think I need to know. What I do know is that you were a gift from God. I believe your species was put on Earth to emulate what unconditional love looks like. Certainly many people don’t agree with that or believe in God at all. That’s okay. He lets them own dogs too. Because no matter how much I yelled at you, or got frustrated or impatient with you, you were always there to welcome me home from school, to play catch in the backyard, and to cuddle up against me on the couch for that evening’s baseball game. That’s what unconditional love looks like. And it takes a God who is love to create an animal that can love like he does.

So, dear Starbuck, enjoy your present residence. If it’s in heaven, see if you can sniff out Pearl or Pupper. If you’re living with someone new, be a good boy for me. I promise to get a new dog one day. Not to try to replace you, but to give a home to one who will be on a journey in search of his purpose. And when I do, I’ll be sure to tell him all about you. It may take me some time to find him. But I’ll know right away when I do. Because there will be something small, something unique, that will remind me of you.

Peeking Under Santa's Suit

There was one more gift on my list to buy so I broke my cardinal rule and went to the mall on Super Saturday. I packed my pepper spray in case I needed to fight off anyone for that last discounted sweater at The Gap.

I found a parking space two zip-codes down from the mall and then rode my bike the rest of way, leaving it with the valet attendant outside of Nordstrom. I passed the line of children waiting for their digital-camera moment with Santa right when the jolly fellow was taking a break. He looked a little weary and lost, so I offered some help.

“Where’s the Cinnabon?” he inquired.

I led him to the food court and sprang for a sleigh-sized cinnamon roll. We chit-chatted while he stuffed his bowl full of jelly with sugary goodness. He told me that the elves at the North Pole have everything under control. So now he can spend his days interacting with children all over the world. He said he’ll head back up north on Friday to rest up for his big night. He also said that he likes to bring back the organic reindeer food from Trader Joe’s.

I gave him a nod, quietly looking for a chance to escape from this nutty St. Nick. But I could see the life returning to his rosy cheeks and decided to play along.

“You know, Santa, I’m really having a hard time getting into the Christmas spirit this year.”

“Why is that?”

“Everything is just so out of control,” I told him. “The whole season is just a bombardment of advertising urging me to spend, shop, and buy. People camped out for days for Black Friday deals. Stores opened up before midnight on Thanksgiving. I don’t care that Every Kiss Begins with Kay and that Lexus is making this a December to Remember. I just want to rebel against the commercialism and see how much money I can save … by not shopping.”

“Wow,” he said. “Sounds like you’ve just come out of Abercrombie and Grinch.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, very funny. It’s not that bad. I understand the difference between the spiritual reasons for Christmas and the consumerism season of Christmas. I just wish we had more emphasis on the former and less on the latter.”

“It’s pretty crazy, isn’t it?”

“Sure is, but frankly, Santa, don’t you think you’re to blame?”

“Me? Why me?”

“Well, didn’t you start all this? I mean, how did we go from St. Nicholas … a real bishop of the Christian church to you: a fat man, in a red suit, flying all over the world giving gifts to good little girls and boys?”

“Marketing.”

“Marketing? Huh?

“Well, yeah, sort of. It’s a long story, trust me. Back in the day, in Europe, I was quite famous. I had my own holiday, December 6^th, to honor my life of kindness and gift-giving. So it was the Europeans who brought me to America. But like most things here in the new world, I got Americanized. I’m basically the work of writers, poets, artists, and advertising executives dating back to the early 1800’s.

“But,” he whispered. “I’ve always been St. Nicholas. Whether you call me St. Nick, Sinterklaas, Sankt Niklaus, or Santa Claus … I still am St. Nicholas.

“Beneath this red suit, I’m still just and old bishop who had Jesus as the center of his life and his ministry. I still care for children and for the poor. I still am devoted to Christ the King.”

I was stunned. “You have to be kidding.”

“Listen, I can’t help how my existence has transformed over time. But I do know how I lived. My values haven’t changed. I went to prison for my beliefs, so in that sense the North Pole isn’t so bad.

I was amazed at what I was hearing, but it sounded logical. Maybe instead of blaming Santa, I actually needed to brush up on my history of Santa. We live in an age where everything is super-sized and exaggerated to the max, from the contracts of the mega-star athletes to the commercialism of Christmas. Perhaps with Santa it’s really not any different. But, maybe, just maybe, if we replace Santa’s suit with St. Nicholas’ vestments, the true meaning of Christmas isn’t so camouflaged after all.

“Thanks Nicholas. This has been extremely eye-opening. I think I’m ready to enjoy the Christmas spirit this week.”

“That’s good, my son. Now, that we’ve got all of this cleared up, what can I bring you for Christmas?”

I paused and thought for a second. I replayed all the ads I’ve seen throughout the last month. “Well, to be honest, I’d really like Carly Foulkes’ phone number.”

“Who is that?”

“She’s the girl in the T-mobile commercials.”

Prayer and the Art of Tebowing

First we had planking.

Then owling, teapotting, headmanning, and batmanning. If you’re unfamiliar with these terms, let me take a second to explain.

In planking, people lie flat as a board in random places, have a friend snap a photo, and upload the picture to the net. Owling calls for the participants to squat like an owl, teapotters strike an “I’m a little teapot” pose, and batmanners hang upside down like a bat. Two people are needed to headman correctly. One, will sit, crouch, or lie in a contorted position in which his or her head is obstructed from view. The other person will do the same, but only their head is visible, leaving a photo that looks like one person’s head has been detached ala the headless horseman from the Legend of Sleepy Hollow.

And now we have … drum roll please … Tebowing, courtesy of Denver Bronco starting quarterback Tim Tebow. Tebowing is defined as “getting down on a knee and starting to pray, even if everyone else around you is doing something completely different.”

Tebow was a hugely successful college football player. He won a Heisman Trophy in 2007 and helped lead his University of Florida Gators to a pair of national championships in 2006 and 2008. He had polarizing affect on college football fans, as views of his abilities ranged from being a limited “system” quarterback to being the best collegiate player this side of Red Grange.

Tebow is also known for his strong Christian beliefs. His parents are missionaries and he does missionary work during the off-season. His post-game interviews often sound like cheery cliché-laden sermons. He talks up homeschooling and abstinence. He was featured in a pro-life commercial during the Super Bowl a few years back. And he prays. A lot. Especially during football games. Practically after every touchdown, completed pass, and trip to the Gatorade cooler. Tebow has a lot to be prayerful about. NFL gurus predicted very little success for him as a Pro QB. After playing sparingly last season and starting this season on the bench, he has taken over the QB duties for the Broncos and has led them to four wins in their last five games. (The only loss was a 45-10 smackdown at the paws of my Detroit Lions.)

And now his praying pose has launched a new internet photo fad which can be tracked at the website tebowing.com. The pictures and merchandise had me literally laughing out loud. But then I got to thinking. What if the terms "Tebowing" and "praying" suddenly became synonymous and interchangeable?

We’d have families Tebowing before dinner and children saying their bedtime Tebows. We could tell our friends who are ill that they are in our thoughts and Tebows.

Also, this could create a nice loop-hole for Christians in the separation of church and state arena. Maybe I could hang up the Lord’s Tebow in my classroom? Christian administrators, faculty members, and coaches around the country could Tebow at school without drawing a lawsuit from the ACLU.

If this fad continues, Bible publishers might have to revise their texts. Key passages would become: Tebow without ceasing (I Thess. 5:17), the Tebows of a righteous person are powerful and effective (James 5:16), and do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by Tebowing and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God (Philippians 4:6). Would a children’s picture Bible have to be changed to show Jesus Tebowing in the Garden of Gethsemane?

Of course, Jesus himself had much to say about Tebowing, er … I mean prayer. Speaking against the attention-grabbing Tebows of the self-righteous religious leaders of his day, Jesus said to Tebow in secret. “But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen …” (Matt. 5:6).

I don’t think that any Hall-of-Fame quarterbacks have to worry about Tebow breaking any of their records. He’s always been able to overcome his limitations and what he’s done the last four games is shall I say … miraculous. But his career as a starting QB is probably short-lived.

I’m certainly a fan of his and I’m glad he’s succeeding. But doesn’t a player, in any sport, praying on a knee, in front of stadium full of people kind of go against the Lord’s directive to pray in secret? Maybe after his next touchdown, Tebow could just flip the ball to the referee and pray standing up, on the sideline.

I think God will still hear him.