I'm watching 'Marley and Me' again for the umpteenth time. If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend doing so, especially if you are a dog-lover as I am. Happily and tragically, I have had several dogs in my life. My first memories included a golden retriever named Joshua. I still find it remarkable that he would let me attempt to ride him such as a horse while not once biting or growling at me. I remember removing all the money I had, at age 4, from my red Velcro wallet and handing it to a lady in a house in Florida to buy another golden retriever, Jericho. Yeah, we were going to have a dog named Joshua and another named Jericho. Leave it to a southern preacher to come up with such names. Good names. I remember coming home with the new puppy only to find that Joshua had died. Only a short time later, my mother approached me and told me that Jericho had gotten run over by an elderly lady in the church following a get-together at the house in Winder, GA. I recall not letting my parents bury Jericho without me seeing him for one last time. For the first time, as a 4 year old, I understood death seeing his small reddened body. It may be different in other families, but as Creels, we treated our dogs like family members. For Jericho, we had a fitting procession and a proper burial with a mound of stones covering the grave.
Then came Freckles, shortly after, a highly active beagle. Sadly, a car literally struck again. After staying with my aunt Cindy and uncle Steve, I came home and the first thing I did was call for Freckles. I remember the awkward silence and my mother looking down and then up to me as she broke the news. I took a walk in the woods.
We moved to Centreville, Alabama in November of 1990 and a soon and constant question was asked, "When are we getting a dog?" The question was answered in a Valentine's Day gift. As a 2nd grader and my sister in 4th, we received a black lab my father named Sheba. When the "Big Snow" of '93 hit, Sheba was mere a pup having to jump up above the snow to find her way. She got lost and was returned to us by our neighbor, Marsha Adams, wrapped up in a towel shivering. As she grew, so did her loyalty. Every day as the Mr. Cottingham, my bus driver, dropped me off at my house, there sat Sheba awaiting my return. My cousin, Madison, even stated Sheba as one of her favorite cousins for a kindergarten assignment.
I must say, during the "Sheba Era," we bought another golden retriever in an attempt to have two dogs. Very tragically, our new puppy, Liza, chewed on a poinsettia plant, was poisoned, and was put down during the fall of my 5th grade year. I can still picture her face as she slightly crooked her head sideways and perked her ears in saying, "Chandler, where are you going?" as I left the house that Friday morning.
After several years of swimming in the Cahaba River and being the best dog that a young, squirrel hunting boy could have, we moved to Vinton, Virginia, a place where 'snow' took a whole new meaning. I'll always remember being the first to wake up on winter mornings to find Sheba sleeping on the couch, which was forbidden by my mother. She would wake, lift her head to see me, and simply put her head back on the pillow. But, when she heard my parent's door open, Sheba would quickly bolt from the couch and lay at my feet. In the spring of my senior year in high school, we had to put Sheba down after a surgery and struggles with cancer. She's buried up the mountain behind our house in Virginia overlooking the valley, which she often did in a "lioness" like fashion.
In the spring of my freshmen year at Georgia Tech, as I randomly visited home from Atlanta, my parents got a new puppy. An Icelandic sheep dog we eventually called Jack, short for Yellow Jacket Creel, became my parent's third child after Leah and I left the nest. He is overly curious, appropriately affectionate, and almost a "scaredy-cat" thought he puts on a courageous facade. Mom calls him my brother and he sleeps curled up by my side when I am at home. He even smiles every time I come home.
Dogs...so much joy.
A dog's perspective on life is so much better than our own. A rub of the belly...a scratch behind the ear is an utmost heavenly pleasure for a dog. I beg you to ask yourself, when was the last time you appreciated a pat on the back or a hug from a loved one in the same way a dog appreciates fetching a water-logged stick in a lake.
I hope I don't offend anyone in pointing out that 'dog' spelled backwards is 'God.' I'm not saying dogs come anywhere close to our loving Father, but if God is love, it is hard to ignore the overwhelming love a dog gives to anyone who will receive it. I once went a calender year away from Virginia and without seeing Jack. When I came home after being gone for so long, how did Jack act towards me? He greeted me unconditionally. I bent down and he all but tackled me, licking my face, and he looked to my mother and back at me as if to say, "Look Mom, my boy has returned."
"A dog doesn't care if you're rich or poor...clever or dull...smart of dumb. Give him your heart and he'll give you his. How many people can you say that about? How many people can make you feel rare and pure and special? How many people can make you feel extraordinary?" - Marley and Me
I believe we can learn a thing or two from dogs, as the well-respected Dale Carnegie agrees. I would go further in saying that most dogs, in a good home, experiences the same amount if not more joy in a decade lifetime than we do in ours.
The very attributes we strive for are naturally found in dogs: complete gratitude, unconditional love, tender affection, unparalleled loyalty, and pure joy.
