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Does anyone remember the scene in Because of Winn Dixie<\/em>, where Opal (played by Dakota Fanning) is sitting on the doorstep with her girlfriend (whose name escapes me), and the two are discussing the joys, tragedies, and general ups and down of life? Opal was making a habit of giving the townsfolk a Litmus Lozenge to try and coax them into talking about what was making them all so downcast. When Opal\u2019s porch friend tasted the Littmus Lozenge, she spit it out and said with a sour face, \u201cThat tastes like not havin\u2019 a dog!\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n Daaawwwg. <\/span><\/i><\/p>\n That\u2019s how she really said it. <\/span><\/p>\n The Littmus Lozenge, as the legend goes, had the flavors of strawberry or root beer, but it also had a secret ingredient: sorrow. So whoever savored one of the candies tasted more than sweetness. They tasted the emotion of sorrow.<\/span><\/p>\n Well, I probably wasn\u2019t supposed to laugh at that scene. Here was a small girl tasting sorrow and doing her best to put her feelings into words, and my response to her expression was to guffaw. Thankfully, I wasn\u2019t in a movie theater, but rather in the privacy of my own home. What struck me funny though was the truth of her statement. Life truly does (sometimes) taste like not havin\u2019 a daaawwwg. Life can be disappointing. Depressing. Sad. Boring. Joyless.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Of course, you\u2019ll only understand the sentiment about not having a dog if you\u2019ve ever owned a dog you liked. Or at least met a dog you liked. I\u2019ve owned many. Tippy, my first dog, was a mutt. But a cute mutt. He was caramel colored, except for the tip of his tail, which was white. Part of the reason I know what not havin\u2019 a daaawwwg feels like is that Tippy was mine \u2013 but not mine. He was just one out of several who my parents would eventually send to a good home. But for a time, I suppose he was mine, and that feeling, plus his feeling that I was his, was the best. Mutual like, or love, is always the best. <\/span><\/p>\n Since Tippy, I\u2019ve had Twiggy, a Dachshund. Pebbles, a Basset Hound. Copper, a Sheltie. \u00a0Tanker, a Rottweiler. And Annie, a Cairn Terrier. A few months ago, I acquired one of the best yet \u2013 Spurgeon, a Labrador Retriever. <\/span><\/p>\n I named him Spurgeon, after the \u201cPrince of Preachers\u201d, because I couldn\u2019t name him Jesus \u2013 who names a dog Jesus? \u2013 but I wanted him to <\/span>be<\/span><\/i> like Jesus. Kind, noble, caring, gentle, gracious, merciful, understanding, loving, smart, hard-working \u2026 name a Christ-like character, and that\u2019s what I wanted in a dog. And if I couldn\u2019t choose Jesus, I might as well choose Spurgeon, after Charles Haddon Spurgeon, because he was the best male example of <\/span>Christ-likeness <\/span><\/i>that I could imagine. Plus he\u2019s a fantastic writer.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n So here I am, living life with Spurgeon \u2013 the pup, not the preacher. And it\u2019s not a lot like living with Jesus. Some days, it\u2019s not even a little bit like living with Jesus. Spurgeon, or Spurgey as we typically call him, started off pretty well. He\u2019s never had a #2 accident on my floor. Only twice did he have a #1 accident. He was virtually house trained within the first few days, probably because he didn\u2019t appreciate getting the bajeebers scared out of him by yours truly while he was doing his business. So he preferred to go outside, where he could tinkle in peace. <\/span><\/p>\n He\u2019s smart. You can say, \u201cHey Spurgey! Go get Barney!\u201d, and he will go fetch the purple, squeaky dinosaur that a friend purchased for him. You can say \u201cGet stick,\u201d and he will. You can say \u201cLet\u2019s go feed the bunny!\u201d, and he knows exactly what you\u2019re talking about. You can tell him to sit, and he does. He even sits on his own before you put his food bowl down, because why waste two more seconds by making your owner tell you to sit? Just sit, and the dog gets fed two seconds sooner. You can say \u201cGet bird!\u201d, and he will frantically search for one of the thousands of robins roaming the few acres surrounding Orchard House. <\/span><\/p>\n But you can also say \u201cGet down\u201d, and he is either deaf or has selective hearing, and suddenly, you find yourself mauled by a fifty pound pup. You can say \u201cSpurgey, get off the couch, you know you aren\u2019t supposed to be up there,\u201d and he will get down. But then he will sneak over to the love seat, slither up the cushion, lay his head on the couch pillow, and look at you with big, brown eyes that say \u201cI\u2019ve just tasted a Littmus Lozenge and I need<\/em> this love seat. Pweeeaaassseeee, can I stay?\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n He terrorizes Annie and won\u2019t let her come in from going to the bathroom. He jumps up on Mom, not caring whether she has Parkinson\u2019s. He digs holes in my yard. He bites at the water coming from the sprinkler as if it\u2019s his long lost brother who wants to play. He loves socks and underwear, if they\u2019re dirty. He eats my irises and roses. He\u2019s mouthy in a biting way, not a barking way. He hates the leash. The leash, to Spurgey, has the same effect as four Xanax pills. He goes from up to down in a second flat once he sees the leash. It crushes his soul and makes him believe he\u2019s unloved or being disciplined for no good reason. He can\u2019t take a car ride without worrying deep down in his black soul whether or not he\u2019s being taken away from his home, compliments of his first traumatic, four hour car ride when he truly was taken away from his home. <\/span><\/p>\n But he does love. He often sits at my feet while I\u2019m working and either chews on a stick or a bone, or sleeps. He\u2019s learned to go at my pace, even though that pace is too slow for him. He\u2019s learning to follow, instead of lead, because he knows he\u2019s as lost as Judas Iscariot. He often comes to me for a simple pet, an ear scratch, or a chest rub (his favorite), because he needs love in return. He licks my feet, knee, or hand to convey he likes me even though I yell at him sometimes. He\u2019s a companion. A joy, sometimes. Oh, most times. And a pain in my rump. Sometimes. But he\u2019s ours and he\u2019s doing his best to not make our life \u201ctaste like not havin\u2019 a daaawwwg.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n What I\u2019m getting at is this: <\/span><\/p>\n The girl who expressed sadness with the words \u201cnot havin\u2019 a daaawwg\u201d spoke from one side of the fence. Having a dog is great. Not having a dog is also great. What seems like the best life is so often (in our minds) located on the other side of the fence. It\u2019s greener over there, we are convinced. And if it really is awful on our side, perhaps we should look at how to safely jump the fence. I\u2019m not saying we never try to better our lives. But as Americans, I am willing to wager that <\/span>usually,<\/span><\/i> our problem isn\u2019t that we are living such barren lives. It\u2019s that we are discontent with the good, fruitful life we have right in our own front yard. <\/span><\/p>\n What a difficult balance to try and achieve \u2026 knowing when to be content, and knowing when to have dreams, goals, and aspirations. We should always have something we are working toward, I think. I can\u2019t imagine a life without any dreams, whether those dreams be perfectly practical or a bit on the, well \u2026 dreamy side. But perhaps there\u2019s a balance, and perhaps we can have it all \u2014 contentedness and dreams, both. Maybe we can be legit content with where we are, yet aspiring to be greater, do more, do better, and therefore share more, whether it be more of ourselves, more of Christ, or more of our monetary profits. <\/span><\/p>\n If I were to give you a Littmus Lozenge, what would it make you say? What is your sorrow? What are you lacking? Or what do you perceivably lack? Maybe that thing, that person, that proverbial daawwwggg you so desperately desire is on the other side of the fence. Or maybe it\u2019s right in front of you, but you\u2019re not noticing it or being grateful for it. Either way, two things are good to keep in mind: <\/span><\/p>\n