Kevin Bemel ·
What You Can Learn from Dogs
Today is a special post in memory of the one-year anniversary of the death of my beloved dog Jiggers. We had a particularly close bond so perhaps you will indulge me and read on. It is longer than my typical post and speaks to the spiritual/religious nature. I would consider it a singularly wonderful gesture if you would comment and/or pass this on to others, especially to someone who is or has suffered a similar loss.
Photograph by Daryl Tempkin
Judaism has a somewhat ambivalent attitude toward dogs. On the one hand, the Hebrew word for dog, kelev, can be interpreted as k’lev, meaning like the heart, a quality any dog lover will attest to. Indeed the dogs in Egypt were absolutely silent during the Exodus. Yet several times the Talmud refers to dogs as abominations. Our dogs were a part of our life from my wife’s and my first date.
I tease my wife that I knew Jiggers longer than her since he greeted my knock at her door with frantic barking and an appearance at the window before she could answer. It was a match made in heaven, and my wife and I fell in love too. During the years before I joined the navy, Jiggers always slept in the easy chair in my home office while I worked, alert to my kitchen raids.
Things took longer with Sasha. Like most dogs rescued from abuse, she had a number of quirks. While we could tap her tushy or nose with a rolled up newspaper, a piece of paper falling near her frightened her beyond comprehension. She loved women but feared men. Two years into our marriage Sasha was still apprehensive about me. When I worked at home she would hide in the bathroom if my wife was not around. Until the day the plumber came.
Faced with a choice between this strange man and me, Sasha ran into my office and hid under the desk. There she stayed until the leak was fixed and the plumber left. She ventured back into the bathroom, but it must not have been the same. Thereafter when I was in my office she would lay on the floor where the sun streamed in, sleeping securely in the knowledge that I had saved her from the dog-eating plumber.
The dogs came with us when the navy sent us to Okinawa and back to California when the navy moved us again. Our daughter was born in Japan, still, they remained a significant part of our life.
But not until they were gone did I realize the true impact they had on me. Judaism affirms that we love that which we take care of but I had not realized this effect is virtually inevitable. I thought Sasha’s being gone would not particularly affect me. But having been her protector, the only man she trusted, created a close attachment, the loss of which I mourn.
My wife mentioned to me that she had not expected to be so sad over Jiggers death since he so annoyed her and our daughter begging for food and barking at every stray sound. Yet it appears the time and trouble she took scolding her “problem child” forged an even closer bond, the loss of which has been more difficult for her than Sasha’s death. It was so simple from our dogs' viewpoint, you are our human therefore we adore you. Would that we humans could view our relationships equally simply.
That their deaths followed each other so closely particularly troubled me. Examining Jiggers’s behavior before and after Sasha was gone, in retrospect, we realized their deep devotion to each other. From their perspective, nothing was worth permanent disharmony. They understood that toys were Sasha’s special domain and food was Jiggers’s.
Though they were not inseparable, their lives were interdependent, two parts of a greater whole. Judaism describes marriage in such a way, and though I would not imply the relationship between our dogs was on this level, yet that they prized harmony above all is a model worth emulating.
Perhaps the most significant thing Jiggers taught me happened during my father’s confinement in a nursing home. After visiting him one day I asked the staff if I could bring my dog the next time, knowing it would cheer up my father to see and pet him. To my surprise, they agreed. In Pirkei Avos 1:15, Shammai teaches us that we should receive everyone with a cheerful face. If ever a dog embodied a mitzvah, this was it. From the moment we walked in the door Jiggers spent every ounce of his being greeting each person as if he were finally being reunited with his dearest, long-lost friend. And they loved it.
That first visit after spending time with my father he met dozens of people. The change in their bearing was remarkable. Whether in wheelchairs or walkers, standing up or lying down they went from being downcast to elated. Jiggers furiously wagged his stubby tail, positioned himself so they could pet him, and made them feel important. He became the talk of the home and his visits were eagerly anticipated. During all of the months of visiting his enthusiasm never flagged. To Jiggers, there were no strangers or insignificant people.
Surely you already know these things rabbi! Zig Ziglar says, “I don’t need to be told, but I do need to be reminded.” Who could ask for a subtler “reminderer” than a charismatic little dog?
One of the most important purposes of the Torah is to testify the world and everything in it belongs to G-d. In Genesis 1:26, G-d gives humans dominion over the animals, with wide latitude in exercising our authority. Though we may not cause an animal undue pain or yoke an ox and a donkey together, in most other respects the fate of an animal is in our hands.
When Sasha first developed a pain in her foreleg, being that she was 14 years old we thought it was just a sign of her advanced age. But when it got worse we took her to the veterinarian. At first, the diagnoses was arthritis and painkillers and muscle relaxers were prescribed. Yet, one Sabbath Sasha slipped while walking and put her whole weight on the leg. Her scream of pain was literally blood curdling. Another veterinarian consult revealed she had an advanced stage of bone cancer. The prognosis: Sasha had at most four months to live, with pain too severe for medication.
My wife and I discussed the situation. Sasha’s life hung in the balance. While we would suffer pain having to put Sasha to sleep, yet it was the most compassionate thing to do for her. If we loved her, to let her live out her remaining days in agony because we wanted to spare ourselves would be unjust.
More than seven years since I protected her from the plumber, I sat pondering how during the Ten Days of Repentance G-d decides who will live and who will die. I had never empathized with the pain He must feel from the decisions He has to make. I came to realize that the tears I shed for Sasha must be nothing compared to those He sheds when he decides that one of his children’s lives will end.
Imagine my heartache when only 25 days later my little mentor Jiggers becoming deathly ill, clinging to life by a thread. Yet having to put my beloved dog to sleep so soon after Sasha pales by comparison to the decisions Our Creator makes daily.
G-d’s giving us dominion over the animals affords us the opportunity to better understand Him as He tries to help us grow and learn. While we may rail against life’s struggles, our recalcitrance undoubtedly pains our loving, heavenly Parent more deeply than we can ever know.
All this, my beloved dogs Sasha and Jiggers taught me when they left me.
But perhaps my daughter best summed up the situation when the loss overtook her and she climbed into my lap. Sadly she observed that now our scamp Jiggers is in Shamayim (Heaven) stealing food from G-d.
Question – What impact has a pet had on your life?
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