In Mr. Sammy's Defense: Lessons learned from my dumpster-diving pup

It was a warm, quiet fall afternoon. Our family was sitting in the living room, enjoying the fresh air coming through the opened, screened French doors. My wife, Dana, our three daughters and I relaxed on the carpet. Our lovely afternoon was about to take an abrupt U-turn. Without warning, an uninvited scent wafted through the living room. It was a pungent and most terrible smell. Dana and I noticed it together. We looked at each other, each of us confessing with our expressions, “It's not me.” One of our daughters was still potty training. We got up and checked her, it wasn't her either. I looked to the hills; the toxin was coming from our backyard. Beyond the screen doors, we saw it. The smell was coming from our beloved year-old German Shepherd/Lab-mix pup, Mr. Sammy. One glance at him unfurled the story. Mr. Sammy had apparently hopped our fence into the neighbor's yard, dove into their trash can and secured what had lured him there, a bag wrapped in at least three other plastic bags. He then hopped the fence and brought his baggage back to our yard. His sharp teeth made easy work of the bags and out poured its contents—a cocktail of days old catfish innards. The chunky, putrid concoction slid onto the manicured, freshly cut grass. Offering no support, our trees seemed to turn from the scene. It seemed to me like clouds rolled in over our backyard. It was not enough that the toxic stew was in our yard for all to smell. Oh no. Mr. Sammy had other plans beyond sniffing the spill. He then proceeded to roll his entire body over the goulash of rotting fish heads and guts. Dana and I looked upon the scene in shock. Then, it happened. Dana turned, and in one motion, picked up all three of our little girls in her strong arms. Without looking at me, she started walking up the stairs to the bedrooms carrying our daughters, and said to me, “Handle your dog.”

Now, I should share at this point that Dana loved Mr. Sammy. She loved our pup as much as any of us did or ever could, which is very much a great deal and lots more. Since we adopted Mr. Sammy, he had always been a member of the Carmona home, one of us, he was family. So, it was rare when she referred to our puppy as “your” dog. Your meaning that he was mine. It is noteworthy that she never stopped to clarify whether she meant “also yours” or “only yours,” just that he was mine. Since there was no distinction made, this, then, could only mean that he had caused a great offense that I, alone, had to remedy. Oh, Mr. Sammy, if only you knew the great cost of loving you!

I quickly secured plastic gloves and went out to my pup. Now, it happened that at this time of the year, our sweet gum tree produced seed pods that dropped to the ground. Sometimes called "gum balls," each seed was nearly half the size of a golf ball, perfectly round, and covered with tough spikes. So, in addition to rolling rotting fish remains into his beautiful black fur, Mr. Sammy managed to impale himself with sharp spiky gumballs. He was covered from snout to tail with this fish guts/spikes combo. With each roll he simultaneously experienced pleasure and pain, delight and suffering. Panting and yelping as he rolled, he enjoyed himself long enough to suffer for it as his own weight pushed the spikes deeper into his flesh. Oh, Mr. Sammy, what have you done to yourself?

I went to my pup. I removed him from the backyard to a fish guts/spike free location. I took the garden hose, a gallon of doggy shampoo, and carefully washed my pup. Something happens to dogs when their fur gets wet. They shake. Whatever was on Mr. Sammy, got on me. The cleaner he got, the more debris got absorbed on me. It took time to wash out the mess and despike him. After lots of washing, Mr. Sammy was made clean. I am glad that I washed and despiked him.

As I thoroughly washed my pup, I reflected. How would Mr. Sammy ever have cleaned himself? How could he have reached the spots that needed so much attention? How could he have been reintroduced to the rest of the family without being thoroughly washed? Looming large over the "how" questions was another question: Mr. Sammy, why? I could see that God was trying to teach me something about families, our natures, and His commitment to washing us. Here are four lessons I learned.

1. We all have a dirty nature.

I have thought about that day over the years. In Mr. Sammy’s defense, I came to realize, it was in his nature to follow his nose. There were unspoken urges that must have been overwhelming, because after all, he was a dog. Dogs love to roll in stinky things, perhaps due to instinct, to communicate where the stinky meal is to their pack, or because it just feels good to them. This was his nature. All families have an unrighteous nature. The bible teaches, “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked; Who can know it?" Jeremiah 17:9 (NKJV).

We also learn from Scripture, 

"There is no righteous person, not even one;

There is no one who understands,

There is no one who seeks out God;

They have all turned aside, together they have become corrupt;

There is no one who does good,

There is not even one" 

-Romans 3: 10 - 12 (NASB).

Our urges come from our unrighteous nature. Those urges seem overwhelming and can lead to messiness. Some messes are self-inflicted. Some messes leave families in unbelievable misery. But that's not all. 

2. We are unaware of how badly we smell. 

Mr. Sammy's nature attracted him to smelly baggage. We are attracted to stinky things; we end up with stinky baggage. Mr. Sammy happily brought stinky baggage back home and thought that his stuff didn't stink when everybody knew that it did. Nobody was hating on Mr. Sammy before or after his baggage issues. It’s just that his baggage was pushing away the people who loved him. Regardless of his intentions, or how much he was loved or loved, his presence was offensive. He was causing a terrible stink in his village. Some of our baggage stinks, pushes people away, and stinks up our village. 

3. Our natures cause suffering.

The truth is, not only did his baggage stink, but his baggage was also hurting him. He knew it. He couldn't stop himself. Our baggage hurts us and the people who love us. Mr. Sammy needed an intervention. So do we.

4. God Intervenes. 

God also has a nature. The bible explains what He is like, "And he passed in front of Moses, proclaiming, “The Lord, the Lord, the compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness, 

maintaining love to thousands, and forgiving wickedness, rebellion and sin..." Exodus 34: 6, 7 (NIV).

God sees families. God gets intimately involved with families. God doesn't leave us how He found us. God washes families in places they can't reach, and in ways that they could never wash. God comes through for families. God believes that families are worth cleaning. God does more than what I did for Mr. Sammy. More than a good cleaning, God can change our nature and tastes. The Word teaches in 2 Peter 1:4 (NIV), "By which he has granted to us his precious and very great promises, so that through them you may become partakers of the divine nature, having escaped from the corruption that is in the world because of sinful desire." 

So, as we soak in His promises, we come to realize that we were really drooling over bacteria-filled bags of rotting debris. While it might have smelled good at the time, truly, it was never good for us. God’s grace transforms families imperceptibly, so that eventually we don’t feel comfortable with certain tastes. God's washing leaves families in a new condition and standing. The bible teaches, "Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!" 2 Corinthians 5:17 (NASB). Mr. Sammy was eventually reintroduced to the family, but not before being thoroughly washed! 

Written by: Daniel A. Carmona, D. Min.