Last weekend was a difficult one, at least as far as my dog and I are concerned. Last weekend I had to administer discipline, and it was not easy. What it taught me, in a limited measure, is how God must feel when he has to discipline me. It makes me feel sorry for the grief I have caused him in my time, never mind the grief I have caused others. I think of David’s statement in Psalm 51, ‘Against you, you only, have I sinned,’ and maybe for the first time understand what David meant.
We had family staying with us, and my dog decided to let my nephew know his position in the pack. He did so in a typically doggish way by snapping at the boy: no serious harm intended, just a warning. Naturally, we humans disagreed with Max’s point of view and he had to be disciplined – a measure amounting to immediate isolation for a while. Later that day, he decided to assert his ownership of a tennis ball when I approached him by snapping at me. Again, this was not an opinion I could share with him, and so, once again, he was dragged into isolation by the scruff of his neck. The outcome was his total lack of interest in the tennis ball, even when I later offered it to him.
The next day, he had another argument with my nephew. Realising that he had not learnt his lesson, I put him into isolation for the whole of the evening and, whenever I had to enter the same room in which he was incarcerated, totally ignored him. This time, the message got through. Max lay in his cage looking forlorn. At each of my appearances, there was the most pathetic of appeasing flickers from the end of his tail, and an upward glance in my direction from beneath flattened ears; he was in the doghouse and he knew it. The punishment was compounded by my bringing my nephew into the room, both of us ignoring Max, and my making very clear the boy’s rank in the pack above Max.
Max had to be allowed out for essential relief before bed-time, but the whole process was conducted with curt orders and immediate compliance, and ended with a return to solitary confinement.
The following morning, Max seemed to be behaving himself. As far as he was concerned, this was another day, and the pack order had been changed for reasons he was unable to remember. He showed no interest in my nephew, who still wanted to stroke Max, and who had learnt to act important so as to reinforce his status in the pack.
The whole episode was a painful experience for dog and owners alike. The problem is, we love our dog and are fully aware of the extreme circumstances under which his unruly behaviour was being expressed. As a dog, he needs exercise, discipline and affection, in that order, to be a balanced, calm animal. Currently, he is recovering from major surgery on his hind leg and is not able to have all the exercise he needs. To his credit, he has needed very little in the way of discipline during this time of inaction but, perhaps to our discredit, and, because of our anthropomorphic tendencies towards our dog, he has had more than usual affection. Added to this, he found himself in the unusual circumstance of being surrounded with new house guests who had to be fitted into his world view. It is not entirely surprising that he had ideas above his station.
Nevertheless, as responsible dog owners, there is no way that we could tolerate his wrong assessment. We also love our nephew, and would be horrified to think that he came to any harm because of our dog, or even became afraid of dogs. Max wasn’t going to learn the easy way and so he had to learn the hard way. Even so, I wanted to let him out of solitary and tell him that everything was OK, and I found it very hard (but necessary) to hold my nerve and persist with the discipline.
I am reminded of passages in Isaiah where God expresses his anger at the sins of his people, and in the next breath his agony of love for the same offenders, his only desire being to show them mercy.
When we do wrong, we hurt not just the person we sin against, but the God who loves us. The pain he feels is not because he is just and holy but because he loves us and wants us to live in relationship with him. Scripture tells us of a God who is slow to anger but quick to be merciful, who bends over backwards to avert judgement, who sent prophet after prophet to his people with warnings when he could have justifiably dealt out wholesale justice without delay.
Well, I think Max has learnt something. He has certainly been more readily obedient since, and has enjoyed restored favours: he is certainly loved no less for his misdemeanours. I think I have learnt something too. God does not enjoy handing out discipline. He would far rather show mercy but discipline us he will, when we need it to bring correction of behaviour and to restore right relationship to him. I have realised that I cause God double grief by my offences, firstly by the offence itself, and secondly because he has to embark on a course of action that is not pleasurable for him. Furthermore, the purpose of discipline is not to mete out justice but to restore the balance and preserve the good, to make love available to us once more.
That makes me want to live right.
We had family staying with us, and my dog decided to let my nephew know his position in the pack. He did so in a typically doggish way by snapping at the boy: no serious harm intended, just a warning. Naturally, we humans disagreed with Max’s point of view and he had to be disciplined – a measure amounting to immediate isolation for a while. Later that day, he decided to assert his ownership of a tennis ball when I approached him by snapping at me. Again, this was not an opinion I could share with him, and so, once again, he was dragged into isolation by the scruff of his neck. The outcome was his total lack of interest in the tennis ball, even when I later offered it to him.
The next day, he had another argument with my nephew. Realising that he had not learnt his lesson, I put him into isolation for the whole of the evening and, whenever I had to enter the same room in which he was incarcerated, totally ignored him. This time, the message got through. Max lay in his cage looking forlorn. At each of my appearances, there was the most pathetic of appeasing flickers from the end of his tail, and an upward glance in my direction from beneath flattened ears; he was in the doghouse and he knew it. The punishment was compounded by my bringing my nephew into the room, both of us ignoring Max, and my making very clear the boy’s rank in the pack above Max.
Max had to be allowed out for essential relief before bed-time, but the whole process was conducted with curt orders and immediate compliance, and ended with a return to solitary confinement.
The following morning, Max seemed to be behaving himself. As far as he was concerned, this was another day, and the pack order had been changed for reasons he was unable to remember. He showed no interest in my nephew, who still wanted to stroke Max, and who had learnt to act important so as to reinforce his status in the pack.
The whole episode was a painful experience for dog and owners alike. The problem is, we love our dog and are fully aware of the extreme circumstances under which his unruly behaviour was being expressed. As a dog, he needs exercise, discipline and affection, in that order, to be a balanced, calm animal. Currently, he is recovering from major surgery on his hind leg and is not able to have all the exercise he needs. To his credit, he has needed very little in the way of discipline during this time of inaction but, perhaps to our discredit, and, because of our anthropomorphic tendencies towards our dog, he has had more than usual affection. Added to this, he found himself in the unusual circumstance of being surrounded with new house guests who had to be fitted into his world view. It is not entirely surprising that he had ideas above his station.
Nevertheless, as responsible dog owners, there is no way that we could tolerate his wrong assessment. We also love our nephew, and would be horrified to think that he came to any harm because of our dog, or even became afraid of dogs. Max wasn’t going to learn the easy way and so he had to learn the hard way. Even so, I wanted to let him out of solitary and tell him that everything was OK, and I found it very hard (but necessary) to hold my nerve and persist with the discipline.
I am reminded of passages in Isaiah where God expresses his anger at the sins of his people, and in the next breath his agony of love for the same offenders, his only desire being to show them mercy.
When we do wrong, we hurt not just the person we sin against, but the God who loves us. The pain he feels is not because he is just and holy but because he loves us and wants us to live in relationship with him. Scripture tells us of a God who is slow to anger but quick to be merciful, who bends over backwards to avert judgement, who sent prophet after prophet to his people with warnings when he could have justifiably dealt out wholesale justice without delay.
Well, I think Max has learnt something. He has certainly been more readily obedient since, and has enjoyed restored favours: he is certainly loved no less for his misdemeanours. I think I have learnt something too. God does not enjoy handing out discipline. He would far rather show mercy but discipline us he will, when we need it to bring correction of behaviour and to restore right relationship to him. I have realised that I cause God double grief by my offences, firstly by the offence itself, and secondly because he has to embark on a course of action that is not pleasurable for him. Furthermore, the purpose of discipline is not to mete out justice but to restore the balance and preserve the good, to make love available to us once more.
That makes me want to live right.
Very good post. As a dog owner and father of a 3-year old, I relate to what you're saying. I've heard it said before that dogs have the intellectual capacity of a 3-year old; but did you know that 3-year olds sometimes have the behavioural tendencies of a canine? Yes, we've had a few disciplinary incidents recently - I can only hope the pack is soon restored to balance.
ReplyDelete