I was recently out in Denver visiting good friends. On my last day there, the three of us sat on a picnic table in a quiet park outside a local library with Abby, my friend's dog, enjoying the welcome shade on a hot day. We were quietly sharing perspectives on life when a car pulled up in the parking lot, windows rolled down, radio blaring and a dog in the back seat. The three of us swiveled our bodies to locate the source of the distraction. The young man noticed us, but did nothing about the volume. Instead, we watched him open his car door and then walk across the expanse of grass that stretched between us over to a trash receptacle near our picnic table.
All conversation had stopped as we watched him approach. We exchanged greetings. "Don't worry, my dog is harmless," he told us. His eyes were steel blue and he appeared to be harmless enough. I was still aware of the loud radio as each of us uttered a response. Mine was something along the lines that the dog was not the cause for our concern. The young man held the leash as the dog sniffed her surroundings and then greeted Abby. Abby exchanged a hesitant sniff or two, but lost interest quickly and resumed her spot in the grass.
My friend exchanged some comments about dog breeds and the like and the young man said that Sophia's exercise was largely hunting squirrels. As if on cue, Sophia fixated on something in the distance that none of us could see. To demonstrate, the young man bent down, held Sophia's collar and then quite quickly released her from the leash and instructed Sophia to "Go get it" or some other command I no longer remember. It was as if we had stumbled into the middle of a dog park. But, none of us had seen the signs because, well, it wasn't a dog park.
Sophia shot like a lightning bolt across the park far to the other side where a trio of trees stood in the distance near the street at the other end. She circled the trees and then began to jump several feet high up against the tree to reach whatever poor critter had scurried up there to save its life. My friend asked what the young man was doing, but didn't exactly mean this in the way that he proceeded to answer. My friend then asked if Sophia had ever caught a squirrel, to which the stranger said yes, she had. And, did she kill the squirrel? Oh, no, he said. What did the dog do with the squirrel then? She let it go once she was done playing with it. We stared at him in stunned silence.
At this point, he called his dog back. On command, Sophia raced back to her owner and then sat quietly and attentively pointed in the direction of the squirrel. I don't recall the next exchange quite so much, but know that my friend tried to explain how we had been quietly enjoying nature only to have him disrupt us with his loud radio.
He explained that the radio station was 91.1 KLOVE, a Christian radio station - as if this was all the explanation required. We exchanged a few more awkward, marginally friendly, but increasingly sarcastic remarks - and for what outcome we were hoping, I am not entirely certain. The young man was utterly oblivious to his effect upon the world. Still, he must finally have picked up on the cues because he led his dog back to the car. As he walked away, we gathered our own party and headed off in the opposite direction somewhat bewildered by the surreal exchange that had just occurred.
As we walked back to my friend's house, I continued to think about this young man. Are we all searching for love and understanding? Did he believe that if we knew it was KLOVE that we would accept him more than if it had been any other radio station? He hadn't tried to convert us, but seemed to just want to talk - about his dog, and even himself perhaps. Did he have no one else to talk to? Or had he really planned this to be an opportunity to witness about his love for Christ?
And what about his dog? His dog did seem to be an amazing animal, but even the smartest dog trained by someone who doesn't quite respect others is still a menace. I felt sorry for Sophia and of course, for the squirrels that she terrorized. And, I even felt sorry for the young man. Someday perhaps he would come to understand that acceptance isn't something that can be obtained by force. If he had accepted that we were perfectly happy without his interruption, perhaps we would have even engaged him in conversation.
By the time we reached my friend's house, I was tired of thinking about him. I remembered the word my husband and I use when training our own sixty pound dog and thought that this perhaps might be good advice for the young man: "Be Gentle."
No comments:
Post a Comment