Sunday Meditation: Puppies, Lambs & God

Mercedes (a.k.a. Mercy) became a member of the Lamb family three years ago this week. She’s three-quarters Labrador Retriever, one-quarter Beagle. I named her after the German car because I’d always wanted a black Mercedes but couldn’t afford one.

Mercy has been a great dog: Barking aggressive and loud when someone’s at the door, going to the bathroom outside, and generally being well-mannered.

We’d had two Chihuahuas prior to Mercedes: Rio, who died of old age, and Coco (his son) who was eaten by an alligator. (Such are the hazards of Florida living.)

I like having pets, though my luck with cats has been better than my luck with dogs; Mercy is the exception.

Pet lovers know what I mean when I say Mercedes is a member of the family: Getting up with my wife and I early in morning, lazing around the house during the day, snuggling on the sofa at night, chasing balls, shoes, and squeaky toys at inappropriate intervals along the way.

In my mind’s eye, I sometimes project my relationship with God along the lines of how I relate to Mercedes. Since my last name is Lamb, you can guess how that plays out: 

“The Lord is my Shepherd.”

Shepherds care for sheep, leading them to green pastures, so they can eat; making them lie down, so they can digest their food; protecting them from wolves, panthers, hyenas, and jackals, because lambs are ill-equipped to protect themselves; leading them beside still waters—because sheep are notoriously skittish around fast-moving streams/rivers, fearing they’ll get water-logged and drown.

I don’t know why Mercedes hangs around our house. For food? Perhaps. The occasional back-scratch? Of course. The playful tossing of toys? Maybe. But I like to think it’s because Mercy knows she’s loved—and that’s probably the reason I hang around with God, as well.