The Dog and the Apocalypse
a parable
Cloud-Cover
On Monday, the United States was given front-row seats to a solar eclipse. The path of totality passed through the eastern part of the country, but here in the Pacific Northwest we were told that we would be able to see about 20% coverage, weather permitting.
Well…weather did not permit.
Over the whole two-ish hours of the eclipse’s passing, thick clouds covered the sky completely, slate-white cotton fog like a sagging duvet.
Despite it all, I stood outside anyway. While the dog looked on nearby, sniffing the edges of the woods, wondering why I was watching the sky for so long, I stared in the general direction of where I thought the sun would be and waited. I hoped perhaps the clouds would part even a little, allowing for a quick glimpse of the cosmic event.
They didn’t. Ah well.
When it was all over, I came inside, sloughed off my coat, and admired the beautiful photos posted online of the various views of the eclipse from all over the country. In a pensive moment, I wrote in my notebook: “The Moon covers the Sun, the clouds cover it all…is it an apocalypse if you can’t see it?”
I don’t know. It felt clever at the time.
It’s been a weird week.
An Unexpected Pup
See, there’s this dog.
She’s a young golden lab with a pretty little face and a great disposition, and our neighbors—who love her, but need to rehome her—want us to have her. That has been the heaviest burden on my mind, this week.
We do want to have her. We’ve wanted a second dog for a long time. Our Finn is a very social boy, and we’ve always thought he would be the perfect kind of dog to have a sibling, as long as we brought one into our lives when he was young enough to enjoy it. We’ve just never been given quite the right candidate. This one has practically fallen into our laps.
But we haven’t said “yes” yet. Because…well…because it’s not that easy. Nothing ever is when you’re a grown-up.
When we got Finn as a puppy in early 2020, my husband and I were still freshly married, new homeowners, and navigating uncertain employment on the cusp of a global pandemic. We didn’t know enough not to accept a dear friend’s gift of a fluffy, goofy puppy…and I’m glad. I’m glad we were naive enough to take Finn on in the middle of all that chaos. He’s been completely worth it.
But four years later, the landscape has changed. All of a sudden I’m looking at every aspect of our lives—our carefully-crafted but imperfect routines—differently, through the lens of another furry life in this house. Waking up in the morning with two dogs. Eating a meal with two dogs. Working with two dogs. Playing with two dogs. Loving two dogs. Finding a rhythm with two dogs. Giving our finances a more thorough going-over, searching for margin in the budget for double the food and double the care. The things a more experienced adult must do, when they need to make a decision that will affect multiple lives, human and animal, for many years.
My daily prayers have taken on the flavor that they always take on when I’m muddling through a larger-than-usual something. Words like “wisdom” and “discernment” slip out easily, feel like lifelines to grasp for.
Sure, it feels good, but is it wise? Is it right? What is the holiest course in something so small, yet so life-changing?
Why does it never feel clear enough?
Apocalypse
On Monday, after the eclipse was over, I had the thought: if I had lived over a century ago in this same region, I probably wouldn’t have even known that a great cosmic performance—a danse macabre beyond human understanding—had even taken place.
No Internet would have told me, no TV, no radio. The angels could have been singing up there, hidden by clouds and muffled by layers of mist, and I would have continued to cook my bread and plant my peas.
What is a cloud-covered eclipse?
Is it still a miracle?
Is an apocalypse still an apocalypse, even if you can’t see it? The word apocalypse means “revelation”, something revealed. If it isn’t visible, I suppose it isn’t the end of the world.
When it comes to revelation, we’re always looking for the obvious. We want the Moon to cover the Sun, to show us a sign of the movement of God’s hand across the sky. We want the daytime to darken, an eerie miracle. Biblically-accurate angels, wings and eyes and wheels, water into wine, the seas to boil, the dead to rise. On some level, we think that an apocalypse should look the part.
But often the apocalypse—the revelation—is a tiny, daily thing. A gradual movement, a slow unveiling. A tiny piercing of the veil. Sluggish clouds behind which the sun still shines.
I have accepted that there will be no heavenly voice telling me outright whether or not our family should adopt a second dog. For that matter, there will be no handwriting on the wall explaining any aspect of my future, making me feel any better about my next steps. That’s just not how it works.
The apocalypse is with us every day, not as a cosmic dance, a whirring of divine wheels, a thundering, a roaring, a cracking of reality. It is just a lantern, held in a trembling hand, that reveals only the path ahead of you. And while it is good and right to look up when a miracle passes overhead, it is just as good and right to look down at your own two feet.
Don’t worry. If it isn’t visible, I suppose it isn’t the end of the world.
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So, I many not be the voice of God, nor can I become a disembodied hand on your wall, but TAKE THE DOG.
Here's why:
1. Dogs need packs. The bigger the pack, the healthier the dog.
2. It's not double work or time. When dogs have a pal, they entertain themselves much better.
3. Yeah, the financial obligation is higher, but a little planning and a little impounding makes it manageable.
4. You neighbors want you to have the dog. They will be able to feel peace knowing their beloved is in good hands.
5. Face it, you want the pup.
6. You already know the dog's habits and temperament. You already know this one will blend right into the family.
7. You may not have seen the eclipse, but this gift of canine persuasion is just as much a miracle.
Thank you for this S.E. I think you have given me a new viewpoint that will be most helpful. Seeing that life is a constant revelation, a mostly slow motion apocalypse full of daily wonder and choices. We should look forward to the offering and get on with it I think.