IN IRELAND EVEN THE DOG IS INVOLVED IN RELIGION
Religion was at the core of my mothers life, a fact that created many disappointments for her. When the guidelines of your life are set in stone and life itself is not, conflict will abound.
It all seems very simple, here's the book of rules, follow them and everything will work out, but it doesn't work that way.
The book of rules doesn't take account of humans, nor are dogs well represented. Humans are best at screwing the rules up completely, all the best laid plans of church and state fall victim to the vagaries of human nature and in an odd or maybe planned twist of fate, it's the very failings and frailties of the human condition that most profit the rule makers. For it's the makers of rules that benefit most from the breaking of rules. The courts of society would not find a ready income without the transgressions of the inhabitants of society. There's slim pickin's to be found among the law abiding. They can't be fined for being obeyers of rules and are therefore of no use or interest to the judicial system.
Our dog Jeff knew the ways of the world and of humans better than most. Being the only canine representative in our family stood him both well and ill. He presided over his dog kingdom, our neighborhood, in the days before political correctness had drowned common sense in a sea of regulations with unintended consequences. He had no dog license, no collar, no microchip, no rules and no regulations. He did however figure out his place in life, which included service to our family in small and endearing ways.
I was the youngest child by some 14 years. I was what they used call a surprise baby. The reason to mention this is that Jeff had been around in the family some years before I was aware of his peculiar services. I have no idea who trained him, if anyone, or whether he took it upon him self to fulfill his duties.
One of those duties was to head off to the newsagent about a block and a half away at 4 o'clock each day and return around 5 o'clock with the Evening Press carried in his teeth and drop it on the front doorstep. What he was up to in that hour was a mystery, but every house in the neighborhood had a dog that looked remarkably similar to Jeff and a homeowner who seemed to resent his presence.
When Dad got home and pulled up the drawbridge of his castle at days end he would retrieve the paper delivered personally by Jeff and sit down to discover the events of the world and as would happen every day curse the 'bloody dog' because some of the headlines would have been dissolved in dog drool and key facts would be missing. Jeff, however, would be sitting on the front porch enjoying the influence he had on world events.
His religious views manifested themselves in some peculiar ways.
As I said my mother was a woman guided by her religion and as such, was a daily church goer, penitent and confessor of her, no doubt, grievous housewifely sins on a regular basis.
She attended the local church, entirely funded by the community, with the heavy participation of my father, to make her confession on a regular basis. All the family followed this tradition, as they say religiously, except me the black sheep, I would only perform under duress.
Jeff felt the need to participate and would follow my mother to church, dare I say again religiously, and sit beside her during mass. Just far enough away from her to be outside striking range, for she was mortified by his presence but close enough that everyone knew he was with her.
When she entered the confessional he would move in for the kill and lie down against the door to the confessional and fall into a deep sleep. When the sainted mother had been relieved of guilt for her transgressions and rose to leave the confessional she would find the door blocked by Jeff. It was almost as though he felt more penitence was needed before he would allow an escape from the confessional.
Pushing and shoving at the door, and making far more noise than was appropriate in the holy church, the now mortified mother would eventually escape when Jeff felt his role had been served and he would be off like a rocket lest he feel the mothers shoe of justice in the area of his behind.
By the time she got home she would have forgiven him for she was a kindly woman and forgave easily.
On her next trip to the confessional she would lock Jeff in the back yard to be free of mortification. She never knew how but sure enough when she tried to leave the confessional there he'd be against the door snoring as usual. I had absolutely nothing to do with it .....honest!
~~~
Brian DeVon is author of the 'Flavour of Ireland' website.
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