Henry... My Hairy Hunk

 The past two years of my life have been filled with daily bizarre interactions with one male in particular. His name is Henry and he is quite handsome... and defiant... and stubborn... and difficult... and horny (more on that later)... and my dog.

Henry was not my first dog. My first dog was named Atticus... yes, like Atticus Finch from To Kill a Mockingbird. Being the planner that I was {am} I had thought that I would get a precious little puppy that looked like he was wearing glasses and name him Atticus and, in a few years, when I had a handsome husband and a huge house, I would get a Golden Retriever or a Yellow Lab and name her Scout (the main character in TKM). Cute and clever, huh? 

I thought so...

Atticus, however, got very sick and went to be with the Lord on New Years Eve 2008. Holding a little puppy in my hands, while he was being put to sleep is a whole different story, and one I will share at a later date, but it ended with me puffy eyes and puppy-less.

I took this devastating moment as a sign that this was not the time in my life to get a dog... I probably should have listened to that gut instinct, but I instead listened to my mom. {Why do I do that??} My mom is a loving and gracious woman and she means the best, but she is... dramatic at times and pessimistic often. She was convinced that I needed to get past my grief by getting another dog... she saw my hesitation as a form of depression {she also sees dark nail polish as an outward sign of an internal struggle} and she would daily send me pictures of puppies.

Finally, one caught my eye and three times I drove forty-five minutes out of town to visit this little guy before I made any kind of decisions (ok... maybe I was a little afraid). He was not the runt of the litter, but he was shy... and fearful... and timid... and totally precious. I watched this pretty pup awkwardly stare at me and tilt his head and thought... ok, here we go... Henry. 

Still not quite sure where Henry came from. My love of anything British??  The irony of it being the name of a little dog and not a debonair old man?? Not quite sure, but it's held on despite my parents' attempts to change it. Six weeks into my having Henry my dad would still say, "Henry?  We're really going with Henry?"

Yes, yes we are...

And just as his name is atypical so is every other aspect of this little man.  Henry is half Maltese/half Shih Tzu so one would think that I had acquired a cute, calm and cuddly companion... right?  

WRONG...

It took Henry all of 12 hours to come out of his shell and he came out with a bang. Henry hops like a bunny. He can jump from the floor to a table top without a running start. Henry hunts. When he was still the size of my fist he would bring me insects and attempt to kill frogs. 

He has been obsessed with me, from day one... but not in a "I want to be near you - I want you to hold me" way... no. Instead Henry worships me in a "I need my space, but I better know where you are at all moments way." He physically follows me everywhere or sits and stalks me with his eyes, but, until a few weeks ago, had a no touching/slight petting policy.

When I pick him up, he will gaze into my eyes and then briefly and beautifully place one paw on my cheek, as though to say, "Look lady, I know you love me... I love you too, but put me down because I've got things to do."

I officially have the most independent dog ever... of course I do. He has even figured out how to tuck himself in at night. One night, after many minutes of staring at me on the couch and breathing heavily into my ear (he knows he gets locked up when he barks) he realized that his attempts to get me to end the evening and turn out the lights (did I mention he's high maintenance) were failing him and so, in a fit of frustration, he flew into the bedroom, and figured out how to fly -  I do mean fly - from an ottoman to my high in the sky, antique, four post bed. This has now become a nightly activity, which I must admit has allowed me to stay up later than my dog would normally have allowed. 

I mean, what is wrong with this picture??

Speaking of not allowing... Henry doesn't like when I take showers and baths. This is a bit of a problem because I do so daily, and I also treasure my hour long night time bath. This bothered Henry because he felt that there was a barrier between us. Well, when he was still a puppy, he blew past that barrier. 

Oh yes... he would daily jump into the shower and the bath with me. He is now content to sit touching the tub, but, in those moments where my dog was flying through my shower curtain or, every morning, when he pins me down and kisses me on the lips to wake me, I laugh and immediately make sure that the Lord knows that this is not what I mean when I pray for a man to passionately pursue me.

Just clarifying... this is sweet and all, but, Lord, we're not there yet... 

Speaking of passion; however, Henry has some... lots. Particularly for stuffed bunnies - light haired ones, not brunettes. I know, Freud would have a field day with this fellow. He has powered through a year and a half of supposedly having no sex drive (I paid a lot to have him neudered) to daily... sometimes twice daily... going the gamut with his big bunny. He finds gatherings... like the reception following my grandmother's funeral or the middle of one of my Bible study lessons... a perfect time to have a public display of his affection and skill. There have been nights that I have been awakened by Henry's and big bunny's love making. I have out loud said, "Lord, it's not enough that I have a lousy love life... I also have to watch my dog get it on... in my bed... really??"

Apparently...

I don't know all that the Lord is teaching me in Henry, but I do know what He's not granting me... He's not granting me a band aid... He's not granting me superficial satisfaction in having something, other than Him, fill the loneliness and the longing in my heart. 

And two years in, I appreciate that and find myself so thankful for a God who won't let me settle for a safety-blanket, but instead says... hold out... hold on... and, while we're holding, let's laugh a little.

-Biblically Blonde