Mike

I can take you today to where he is buried, even though his grave marker is long gone. I don’t believe he wanted to die. His death was sudden, tragic and very traumatic for those of us who loved him. His name was Mike. He was black.

Like a lot of dogs, Mike liked to run and to go places where he wasn’t supposed to be. That’s the reason we had to keep him in the barn at night, to keep him from getting into trouble. In former days, the old barn used to shelter cattle and the old hay mow remained a great place for dogs and kids. I can remember playing there for hours. There was still some loose hay there even for Mike to lay on. But Mike had other ideas. One night in his desperate attempt to be done with the confines of his spacious and secure prison, Mike made his escape. It wasn’t easy. I can picture him working at it for tireless hours as he gradually chewed and clawed his way through the wooden board and batting, finally pushing his body out through to what he believed to be his hard fought for freedom.

In the common style of those old cattle barns, the ground fell away to the back side where the cows would enter the stalls below the mow. Mike’s chain wasn’t long enough to allow his body to reach the ground below. The next morning, my eyes awoke to the sight of Mike’s body, his black fur sleek and shiny and beautiful in the light of day, hanging lifeless against the side of that old barn. We buried Mike in the orchard just below the barn and fashioned a wooden cross to mark his grave. We carved his name in the cross – Mike.

Mike lives on in my memory though, as a testimony to a profound truth about dogs and people. While our Master knows what’s best for us (He really does), sometimes in our relentless determination we will get what we want, even if it kills us.