Leashed

Walk location: neighborhood
Walk time: early morning
Skies: [dark]
Temperature: 58 degrees
iPod: David McCullough's Truman
Steps: 5,500

Since it was dark when I began and ended my walk this morning, my attention was focused less on the external and more the internal of my life. For whatever reason I reflected upon the behavior of my walking companion Gizmo, a papillon mix, who has been part of our family for nearly six years now.

There are moments when I try to convince Claudia that Gizmo is as smart as a human; he is so smart, in fact, that he doesn't need to use language to express himself. He knows intuitively, so words are unnecessary. She argues that what I refer to as "intuition" is merely nature's "instinct," and that Gizmo is no more human than I am canine. While I know logically that she is right, I cannot help but think about the psychology of it all.

My thoughts this morning concerned the sense of security Gizmo derives from being leashed. Animal rights activists may argue that a leashed animal is a cruel thing, but in our dog's case it seems to provide him a healthy sense of boundaries. He has about 20 feet in any direction he can wander as we walk, so he is not restrained. His collar is comfortably adjusted for his neck size, so he not choked when he reaches the end of the leash. If there is approaching traffic, pedestrian or auto, he can be quickly reigned in for his own safety. Recently when he was attacked by a larger dog, the leash offered me the opportunity to hoist him from the ground into my arms, and although not fast enough to prevent a puncture wound, it did protect him from more intense injury.

And one of the most interesting and irritating curiosities of Gizmo on the leash is that he prefers to feel tension in the cord leading from my hand-hold to his collar. If I attempt to loosen the leash enough so he has freer reign he will walk around the back of my legs in order to sense that someone is holding him in check. Years ago I thought he was simply confused and would entangle my legs in his leash in confusion or disregard, but I have come to discover that it is by intention. He likes to feel the pressure which reminds him that someone is leading him.

As a person of Christian faith I have to ask myself to whom I am leashed. It is not a metaphor I reach for eagerly, because like most humans I resent the idea that I need to be reigned in or collared in order to be the person I need to be. I have been informed by my cultural values, which declare autonomy and independence and nearly all costs. This is a real contrast to the intentions of our country's founders, who understood genuine freedom as having boundaries and safeguards. Thomas Jefferson, democratic exemplar that he was, held that there needed to be a balance between human rights and freedoms and the role of government. Both were necessary for human happiness and fulfillment.

Philosophically I have to ask myself this question, "If I am tethered to God, then where will I find security, direction, guidance?" Is it possible to be tethered to oneself (autonomy) with any success? I don't think so. Is it possible to be tethered to a central government (totalitarianism) with any kind of human fulfillment? I don't think so. We must allow ourselves to be tethered to One more knowing than ourselves in order for us to feel secure and confident enough to explore the horizons of our lives.

Walking with God is like my walking with Gizmo. God is always in the process of making things news ... there is always energy and momentum with the Divine. If I am unleashed it means that the energy may confuse me or spin me about heedlessly and without direction. If I am tethered to God, though, it means that we are constantly in motion, constantly moving in a direction, and while moving I have the opportunity to explore confidently within the boundaries of my "tether." It is not confining, but freeing because I have just "enough leash" for what I need for my path at the moment, even though my larger "geography" continues to change.

It's strange the things you learn while walking a dog in the dark.