I wrote a “book” of Chester’s and my adventures on our pilgrim walk from D.C. to Pittsburgh on the C&O Canal/Allegheny Passage Bike trail while for sabbatical I was learning the Gospel of John by heart. That was twelve years ago. Today I said good-bye to Chester as he settled in for his final sleep. This story seems appropriate. Some of you have heard pieces of it in sermons.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Monocacy Aqueduct
Rick and I knew that we had some work to do to get Chester ready for the etiquette of camping life and meeting strangers. In the early stages of preparing for the sabbatical, I started to grow concerned when, in reading through material, I noticed that some campgrounds had rules about dogs that misbehaved or barked too much; those dogs and their owners could be asked to leave. While the obedience classes at the pet store had been great in helping me teach Chester basic commands, and he had learned very quickly, he has kept a strong instinct about what he considers his territory. He will raise a clamor if someone steps into his space without his permission; this can be a problem when camping, especially if campsites are close.
For Chester, the challenge of dog etiquette extends beyond the territory issue. He is the most affectionate dog I have ever owned and can charm the wits out of many people he knows if he includes them in his inner circle. Although his big brown eyes, perked ears and thumping tail melt me every time (and he knows it), his wariness of strangers, perhaps an imprint left from his pre-rescued past, has never left him. He only grudgingly tolerates the veterinarian. He is particularly untrusting around men with hats. As his owner, I can never predict when he will nervously digress into fits of intimidating barking when a stranger tries to pet him. Many people who consider themselves dog friendly have discovered that Chester thinks otherwise.
Then there is the matter of dogs. After being attacked by a neighbor’s dog, Chester has always been on his guard when unfamiliar canines are approaching. He is definitely an “alpha” dog, and he will make a show of yanking at the leash to reach others, usually just to sniff, sometimes to growl and bark, but always to insure that they know he has the upper hand if they should try anything. He is not going to allow the neighbor incident to be repeated. The environment of walking the water way is challenging for Chester because of the constant stream of strange dogs, suspicious people and ever changing territories, all of which send him into high alert.
Ironically, Chester’s instinctive cautiousness makes him great protection for me when we are walking through relatively isolated areas for most of these 335 miles. Nevertheless, we invested in the services of a dog trainer who came to our home for a number of months and gave us assignments. With some hard work, we have all made progress. Let’s face it, though, Chester will never be a dog who can just chill out. He is, after all, a product of his unique genetic beastliness: a territorial, herding, anxious but adoring protector. I, as his owner, must always be vigilant and consistent with him on the walk, and, for a day dreamer like me, that in itself is a challenge.
Yesterday evening and today have presented the best and the worst face of my companion-beast. I’ll start with the latter. We moved to a new campground today, one that has very particular dog rules, so we know we must be on our best behavior. Chester is by no means the only dog in the campground. Apparently a dog show is being held in the nearby town for a breed called Papillons (from the French word for butterfly). These are toy spaniel-like dogs with ears that stick out like butterflies. They, too, like to defend their territory, and in spite of their small size, they bark defiantly, especially at big dogs like Chester.
I do not mean to insult any Papillon owners, but I am quite sure that Chester does not consider these creatures to be dogs. After all, they are smaller than most cats, their tails are as enticing as a squirrel’s, and their sharp little barks have an I-dare-you-to-come-and-investigate-me quality. This campground is over-run with them today. There are sometimes three, four, even five dogs in a camper. One campsite in a direct line of sight from the tree to which we have tied Chester has several Papillons outside in a playpen. There is also a Papillon in the large motor home parked immediately next to us; no more than twelve feet of tiny campsite yard separates us. Fortunately their front door is on the opposite side from Chester’s tree.
Meanwhile, we are trying to get situated in our new location and have settled him on a mat on the ground outside the camper door. The afternoon sun is shining, the mud is drying, and a chorus of yipping Papillons fills the air as we move things in and out. Chester observes it all.
I have just sprawled across the bed in the trailer to plan tomorrow’s walk when all hell breaks loose. I hear a few of Chester’s most frantic, hunting-call barks and then Rick’s bellowing: CHESTER. I know this is serious. By the time I make it outside, the chain that was around the tree lies broken on the ground, Chester is gone, and Rick has headed off into the campground, shouting his name. Fortunately, Rick soon returns hanging on to our tyrant by the collar.
Rick summarizes the brief incident: the neighbor in the motor home came around to the back side (our side) to use his camper’s outdoor faucet and wash off his cute little Papillon. Chester, having decided that this was an invasion of his personal space by an alien creature, barked and lunged toward the little dog and broke his chain. The quick dog owner scooped up the little “pap” just in time as Rick yelled. Not to be daunted, Chester took off towards the next taunting target in the direction of the pack of Papillons in the playpen. Fortunately, our erring hunter was grabbed by Rick before he could get into too much trouble.
We have abandoned any hope of a quiet afternoon as we climb into the truck and head off into town. At a pet store we find exactly what we need: a heavy duty chain called “The Beast.” Back at the campsite again, as the sun sinks low and the light dims, we rig up this new contraption around the tree. There is no way that Chester can break loose now, but we are not taking any chances. Mostly we have confined Chester indoors and only dare walk him under the cover of darkness on a dirt road that leads up a hill away from the camp. It is our way of enforcing a truce in Chester’s war with the Papillons.
But I must also remember my dog’s gallant effort of the evening before. Yesterday, he was so different; he was a true pilgrim of peace who offered hospitality to a stranger. After the day’s hike, we had driven back to the Monocacy Aqueduct again, curious to see the flooding from all the rain. A high school track team was out running on the trail. We negotiated our way through the boys milling around after they had completed their run. Once we had walked onto the aqueduct, we leaned over the wall and watched the brown swirling water carry branches, a blue ball, a barrel, and soda bottle under the bridge’s arches and on to where the mouth of the Monocacy Creek empties into the Potomac. I wondered how much of the debris would reach the ocean.
After a while, a boy came half-heartedly running across the aqueduct, long after most of the others had finished. He was smaller, probably younger than the rest, and seemed more interested in the river’s scenery than running. He trotted past us, through the line of his waiting colleagues, and then around a curve in the towpath to the finish somewhere beyond our view.
We watched the river a little longer and then headed back to the truck, passing through the gauntlet of boys again. We asked and found out that they were from Urbana High School.
Suddenly, the young boy who had straggled behind his team mates appeared from down the towpath, and before I could caution him, he walked straight up to Chester and started petting his head and scratching his ears. I was immediately concerned about how Chester would react, but he did not back away or bark his intimidating barks. He just stood there. I could see it was hard for Chester; he was standing stiffly, but he seemed to be making an effort to control himself.
“He’s usually afraid of strangers, but he seems to like you. Do you have a dog?” I asked.
There was a pause. “I did….he died last week,” and the boy kept on petting Chester, who wasn’t exactly wagging his tail, but continued to receive the attention calmly.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“It’s okay.”
“How old was he?”
“Fifteen.” He didn’t say anything more, but gave Chester a final gentle rub, said good-bye and rejoined his team.
Chester’s accepting behavior surprised me, and then I ponder this: when we begin each day’s hike, an uncomprehending Chester listens to me pray in the walking prayer that I will have opportunity to extend peace to those I meet. Yet last evening at the Monocacy Aqueduct, it was Chester who was the pilgrim who extended peace to one he met, a boy who was less interested in running and more absorbed by the dog he missed. How did Chester know? His simple gesture of remaining quiet and extending hospitality (by no means an easy feat for him) offered something to the boy that no human could have given at that moment. In so doing Chester fulfilled more than just his self-proclaimed role as my protector. He chose to be a peace maker too, and joined me in a pilgrim’s mission. I am left amused that God not only answers prayer through us theologically minded human folks, but also through the humble efforts of an overly-anxious, unpredictable, tail-thumping beast who simply wants to be fed, defend his own territory and get his ears scratched regularly.
And so, young running friend, wherever you are tonight and however much you may be missing your old dog, may the peace of the Lord (and of Chester the Beloved Beast) be with you.
Jesus said: Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid. (John 14.27)
This pilgrim prays: O God, how you use us to extend your peace into this world is always a mystery. You often surprise us. We rarely know the deepest needs of folks whom we encounter throughout the day. We do not know the hidden places where they are hurt, grieving, fearful or discouraged, but you know. Help me stand quietly, ask questions and listen long enough, so that you have an opportunity to move your peace through one to another.
Laura Grill says
How beautifully written! My Father loved coming home from Bible Study with you and telling us the stories you would share about Chester. Chester was very much like our English Springer, Malley, in personality and antics so I always enjoyed the laughs. Prayers go out for you and Rick as you mourn the loss of your beloved Chester.
Elaine Dent says
Thank you, Laura. Thinking about your dad makes me smile. That group and his part in it(wit, humor, questions,friendship) were for me a treasured part of ministry. I am sure he is still missed in your family.