Dog Theology

What I know about dog philosophy, I learned, as you would guess, from dogs. Dogs showed it to me over and over and over again, like any good teacher would, and eventually I understood.

Dog Philosophy is this -- the next thing that’s going to happen will be great beyond belief. 

Think about it.

The next thing that’s going to happen will be great beyond belief.

That sense of upcoming amazingness is the center of Dog thought. If you have a dog, call him over now. If you don’t have a dog, take a walk until you find one. Then do this:

Say his name.

The dog will go bonkers. He’ll wag his tail. He may even jump around and run in tiny circles like an imbecile. This is because he believes -- believes -- that something wonderful is about to happen. Say a dog’s name with any degree of excitement in your voice, and the poor thing is likely to have a heart attack. The dog thinks that if you’re excited, then god only knows what remarkable thing is about to happen, but it will certainly be more amazing than anything that has ever happened to any dog in the history of the world.

Open a door. Watch a dog go delirious with joy. Pick up his leash. Same thing. 

Of course there are exceptions. If, for instance, you’ve given your dog a bath before, then he knows that the sight of you filling a big plastic tub with water and dog shampoo will not lead to something that is great beyond belief. It’s leading to a bath, and he knows it.
But stop filling the tub, or pick up one of his toys, and his belief will return. Suddenly he’ll do that dog-joy thing again with the tail and the jumping. Because the bath has been canceled and the next thing that happens will be great beyond belief.

So what I’m saying is this. A dog assumes that good stuff is right around the corner.
And I can’t think of a better way to live life. If I could, even just on occasion, adopt that philosophy, then I know that I would be a happier guy. I’d be less human, more dog-like, less prone to suspicion and cynicism, more likely to get excited by the routine and everyday things that are good.

That’s what I shoot for. I want to believe that the next thing that’s going to happen will be mind-numbingly, intensely cool. 

Dogs also have a theology.

Dogs believe that you are God. 

Some of this is self-evident. You provide the food and the shelter, so it’s only natural that a dog would think of you as god. But there’s more to it. Dog Theology is all pervasive. 

If you take a dog to the door when it’s raining, the dog will look at you with this sort of plaintive thing happening on his face. People, because they don’t understand dogs, think that the dog is saying this: “Why are you making me go out in the rain?’’

But what the dog is really saying is this: “Why are you making it rain?’’

This is a big question for a dog. Remarkably similar to the sort of explanations that humans seek from their God.
For example: someone dies. That stuff  happens all the time. And people always ask God why. Sometimes they ask the big question: ``Why is there death?’’ Sometimes they ask the small question: ``Why did this particular person have to die at this particular time?”

So what is God’s answer?

Well, what do you tell the dog when he asks you “why are you making it rain?”

An idiot, a cruel god, tells the dog to stop whining and just go out in the damn rain. 

But a kind god doesn’t answer the question. 

Instead, a kind god tells the dog that it’s OK. “It’s alright, buddy,’’ a kind god says. “It’s only rain. It’s OK. I’m right here.’’

And that’s the same answer, if we’d just shut up long enough to hear it, that God gives us when we ask those stupid questions about death and meaning and what not.  “It’s OK,’’ God says. “I’m right here.’’

See, you can learn about what God is telling us by trying to be a better god to your dog. That’s because Dog Theology is the belief in something that you don’t understand because you sense that it’s taking care of you. It’s the belief in something gentle and kind standing next to you in the face of rain and death.

And if you’re quiet, and if you believe that the next thing that happens will be great beyond belief, then you can hear what God says to you every single day. “It’s OK,’’ he says. “It’s only rain. It’s only death. It’s nothing to worry about. I’m right here. You’re a good boy.  And I love you.’’