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Karen Frances

Dogs and God


When I was much younger, every once in a while, random people would say to me, “Dog is God spelled backwards.” Correct! But everytime someone felt the need to point that out to me, it prompted me to think about what that actually meant, or what that message meant for me. Was a dog God? I thought not. Back then God had been introduced to me as that old man with the white beard; Jesus’ father. Some people said he was kind, others blamed him for a plethora of ills both in their life and the world, but regardless, he was the guy hanging on the wall at the local church that I was forced to attend. Personally, I wasn’t having any of it, the religion that is, since it never really resonated to me. So each time, I would conclude that a dog was not God, it was a dog. And who was God anyway? Back then I had no idea, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t a dog.


During my childhood, besides the 7 humans sharing the same space, our household also held various pets from time to time, the assorted cats, birds, fish, gerbils; Strays, gifts from the grandparents, disposable, not sure. I would bond with some, not with others, most were shared and not completely mine. But of what was mine I held dear and took great care, intuitively knowing their life depended on me. I would ask for a dog from time to time, however that was never going to be until one day my father walked into the house with a puppy and I was shocked. We were older, I had to be around sixteen. Of course we were all very excited and welcomed this little one, but I knew on some level that my father hadn’t brought the dog home for us, even though he said so. This beautiful gift was for him and he deserved it. And that knowing would be validated many times over as I watched from a distance, the exchange between owner and canine silently grow into this mutual love and adoration. There were no words, not one specific thing, but in this space of taking care of one to the other and back again, I bore witness to this impenetrable connection, this unbreakable and protected bond that formed between the two. But more so, I could feel the genuine consideration and kindness, the subtleties shared between them. At the time I did not recognize it for what it truly was, but much later it would save my life.

In my thirties, I was living in an apartment in New Jersey. One that did not allow dogs. And although I desperately wanted one, I knew, beyond anything, that I couldn't, so I would reign in my desires by going to pet stores and playing with the puppies. It was at one of those random play dates that my boyfriend and I met a sweet chocolate lab. I instantly became attached and held him tightly against me, not wanting to let go. After some time, I finally made myself give him back, practically in tears and immediately put my boyfriend on notice - “Do not get me that puppy or I will be evicted and there is no way that I can move again”, making sure he knew I was not kidding around or just half saying it. One week later he showed up with said puppy in hand as my “birthday gift” early, and a few days later, the eviction notice appeared on my door. I had 30 days. Was I mad? How could I be? I had in my arms this most precious, sweet and vulnerable creature. Upset? Very much so. At the sheer lack of consideration my boyfriend had shown for both me and the rules that would now render me homeless. But how convenient for him, when I ended up having to move into his place after saying no to his invitations to live together for the past year. Sigh.


Fast forward; we got married, my puppy grew up into a beautiful, gentle and well behaved lab. My husband ‘D’, jealous of our bond, would display periodic spats of meanness towards him, forcing me to protect and defend Roscoe and also bear witness to another side of this person I hadn’t been aware of before.


Six months into our marriage, the recession hit and ‘D’ lost his business, like so many others, due to halted construction and mismanaged funds by his own doing. He started drinking or maybe was just continuing. I found out then that alcohol and alcoholics were the big secret in the family, and I had been kept in the dark. His sister ended up finally telling me the truth to which I was both angry and hurt, letting them all know that they should have been honest with me before I married him. ‘D’ then found his way to drugs all the while I went to work everyday, supported us, giving him my attention, thoughts, optimism, consideration and space to work things out. I was the proverbial cheerleader on the sideline letting him know that he was valued and loved, always kind, never judgemental, doing my utmost to never make him feel less than. Two years later, when he had turned down any work that had come his way, telling me it was beneath him and didn’t even think to wish me a happy birthday, I put down the pom poms, handed in my uniform and walked off the field. Done.


The separation was far from amicable. He was enraged, dangerous, threatening, keeping a gun within reach beside the bed. At first I wondered why he would take that kind of chance. What if I somehow got hold of the gun and used it against him. But then I realized that he knew, without any doubt, that I would never even try. I didn’t have it in me. He took everything without me putting up so much as a side eye. However, when there was nothing left to take and he tried to take my dog, I went from “take anything you want, you can have it all, I just want to be done with this”, to “if you even touch one hair on that dog I will fn kill you”. Oh, there you are……


And so Roscoe and I found refuge in a small cottage in a quiet little town, where, when the legalities were over and I could breathe and relax, all of the emotions that were held at bay by the anxiety and fear playing out for so long, came crashing in like a tsunami; he was the first man I had ever trusted with the rest of my life and the rest of that life was over. The pain and betrayal of the big lie, realizing that he never really considered or cared about me, that I was not acknowledged nor appreciated, never truly loved, broke me. I spent the next two years completely devastated, my heart in fifty-two million pieces, and every day after work I would come home and sit in a chair in the living room, opening up the floodgates to all of the emotions I kept hidden during the day and cry uncontrollably for hours. And without me asking, Roscoe was right there too, every night, laying across my feet, never moving, ever vigil, protecting me and letting me know that I was not alone. He would remain there, very still, not a sound, for hours on end until I was done for that evening. And then he would be there again, the next night, to bear witness to my expression of this unbearable pain. After three years and seeking out the professional help I knew I needed, I came back from the wound that had devoured me.


In the aftermath, in this pain and despair, I was forced to look at myself, at my path, to rewind and review how or why I had gotten where I had been, so off and far away from my spiritual center. And I vowed that I would never make that mistake again. I looked to a greater being, this divine omnipotent creator for answers, for clarity, for healing. Through accountability and self reprimands, I also came to another level of understanding and acceptance of myself and when I put enough distance between me and this experience, there I was, just me and Roscoe, side by side, no words, in this impenetrable bond, having survived this ordeal together. It was this unconditional love that I had for my dog and that he had for me, no questions asked, that brought me back to the love I so desperately needed for myself and my heart to heal. It was in that love, that powerful emotion of opening up so wide and vulnerable, that your outside is inside and your insides are outside, maybe looking forwards or maybe looking back. But in that connection you knew that there was no beginning, no end to this feeling that held you both together, never to be broken.


Waking up each year on my birthday morning, for every year that Roscoe was with me and many more years after he was gone, the very first utterance that would come out of me was “Roscoe, you are the best Birthday gift I have ever gotten in my entire life.”

Thank you God…………



P.S. Apologies for being MIA this past month, but as the universe would have it, I once again,

have a little one that requires a great deal of attention. Say hello to Cooper!







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