How do you explain your dog’s exuberance every time you come home, as if replaying Verdi’s “Triumphal March” from Aida? It can be a lot of energy, even without the horses and orchestra. You may have left your dog with strict instructions to “guard the house,” or “stay in your spot.” You may have committed the unpardonable sin of trimming toenails or reprimanded him for something that very morning. Yet, grace abounds. Exuberant greetings ensue. It’s homecoming, and all is right with the world. Joy and affection flow freely.

What if I told you that the joy of the dog gives me strength, to borrow from the psalmist’s joy in the Lord? I am ready to give an account of my understanding of the Christian faith in this regard. Dexter, a Brittany Spaniel, is the bundle of canine joy who demonstrates a fullness of spirit that encourages my spirit. Dexter’s joy brings me joy.

One of the best manifestations of canine joy comes when Dexter’s working a field. He’s a bird dog. When he runs through a field, he’s not only running—he is surfing. His ears fly up, his face looks ecstatic, and he expresses rapture in finally getting to have “run around time.” 

The “evening zoomies” are an altogether different energy from running the fields. Usually, the zoomies are accompanied by deep growls and occasional threats of ferocious attack, all muffled by the stuffed animal in his mouth. Evening zoomies are like Easter morning’s burst of alleluias on energy drink: exuberant gruffness and dizzy circling with intense liveliness for everyone. Or else you get 50 pounds of full-court press bounding into your lap.

Last week, a friend and I were on the way to an open space park where Dexter could run around. I told her that his excitement in the car builds with intense singing. I also told her that if she joined in his singing, to commiserate with him, he would get louder. So, of course she started singing with him. And of course he got louder. Fortunately, the ride home is different—much more panting and much less moving around in the back seat. 

Dexter’s singing, his affection, his enthusiasm for greeting visitors, his temporary forgiveness for all the times I’ve cut hair or toenails or any of the other uncomfortable things we do—that forgiveness is the fabulous feature of good dogs.

What I’m particularly amazed by are the characteristics of his breed. He’s a Brittany, a bird dog known for his nose, along with family-friendly qualities of a medium-sized, gentle, trainable canine. He’s curious, dangerously so when he sticks his snout into holes in the ground. Yet, he also senses that approaching a nearby snake might be something to be both curious and cautious about, particularly because Michigan’s Eastern Hognose raises its head in a way that’s like a python. 

Knowing a dog’s breed and its inherent traits can make for profound observations. Watching a dog function in ways true to its nature brings me deep joy. Observing their intense joy in following a scent, hunting a creature, stalking a chipmunk, or bounding through a field like a canine doing ballet is to be given glimpses of wonder about their innate qualities. Dexter is fiercely focused on following unseen trails, nose to the ground, switching direction like skilled sailors coming about in strong winds. Sometimes, he’ll be so focused that I’ll notice a bunny breaking loose from a pile of brush and run for its life, but Dexter is still on another scent and misses the escapee. That’s a fortunate thing for the bunny. 

We were hiking with some friends when Dexter stopped and focused intently on a small crevice. I’ve learned to stop and pay attention when he stops to look at something. This time, it was a tiny chipmunk in a small crevice easily missed by those of us walking the trail; I gave the command to “leave it” so that Dexter would not go fully into hunting mode. At other times when he pauses on a trail, he sees deer or studies the landscape to gauge the distance he might need to cover to catch up to a groundhog or squirrel. Sometimes he will be ahead of me on a trail and look back at me with a side-eye, as if to say, “You’re too noisy!” 

One person who writes about dogs is named, ironically, Jon Katz. I read several of his books some years ago and had two takeaways. First, understanding a dog’s breed is to help them, in the best way possible, “live out their calling.” Katz raised border collies, who need to work and to herd. Second, the dog owner needs to hold their emotions in check and respect dogs for being dogs, not people. The dog will not understand the owner’s frustration expressed in anger toward the dog. Sometimes, especially during training, it is best to give things a rest. 

Recently, I came across these words by Dostoevsky:

Love all God’s creation, the whole of it and every grain of sand.
Love every leaf, every ray of God’s light!
Love the animals, love the plants, love everything.
If you love everything, you will perceive the divine mystery in things. 
And once you have perceived it, 
You will begin to comprehend it ceaselessly.
More and more every day. …

Love the animals:
God has given them the rudiments of thought and untroubled joy.
… do not deprive them of their joy. 

And so, we pray, “In your light, may we see light, O God.” May we also see in the joy of dogs the joy you draw from creatures who do as they were created to do and be.