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Who Brought the Dog to Church?

By Tracy L. Smoak

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Evangelism Gone to the Dogs

A little brown dog, of all things, reclined on the church pew to
the left of Betty Herndale. The pooch wore a polka-dot bow
in its topknot, and its cotton-candy tongue lolled on the plush seat
cushion. Betty couldn’t believe modern manners had slipped so low.
Some people might not have a problem with a dog in the
sanctuary, particularly since members of The First Church in Prosper,
Virginia, valued evangelistic efforts. But Betty minded—a lot.
Bringing a pooch to church violated the notion of hospitality.
God loved all creatures, great and small, but even He didn’t invite
hairy dogs to sit on new pew cushions during a Good Friday prayer
vigil. What would members of the ladies’ auxiliary do if they saw that
terrier seated on the purchase from their many bake sales?
And what if the mutt had mange? Betty scratched her forearm.
Then, she adjusted her floral dress to cover her knobby knees and
tightened her disapproving lips as she stared at the dog’s owner. This
middle-aged woman named Ida Lou-something-or-other attended
last week’s Bible study as a new visitor. The guest said little about
herself, except she’d recently relocated from a larger city. Perhaps Ida
Lou came from a church that allowed pets. Well, Betty would quickly
squelch that notion.


However, Betty couldn’t figure out how to alert the newcomer
regarding the impropriety of including a dog in this night’s holy
petitions without breaking the silent vigil. The two other people,
praying with heads bowed in the back of the church, didn’t seem to
notice anything. Perhaps they also sought Divine guidance on how
to handle this delicate situation.
Ida Lou, a classic blonde beauty in a butter-yellow jumpsuit and
leather sandals, sat across the aisle, apparently enthralled by the
stained-glass windows and oblivious to Betty’s displeasure.
If she’d noticed the dog as soon as she entered the church, Betty
would have sat elsewhere. Now that she was settled, she couldn’t very
well get up and move without making a scene and disturbing others
in the peaceful quiet.
The four-pawed source of conflict sat up, cocked its head, and
wagged its tail—as if hoping to declare a truce. Betty glared. The
pup took the hint, crawled over the blonde’s lap, and hid on the
opposite side.
Although the pet’s owner must have been twenty years her junior,
Betty thought the newcomer should have known better. “Some
people are allergic to animal hair,” Betty whispered just loud enough
for Ida Lou to overhear. But the noise of others opening doors and
entering the dim sanctuary must have drowned out her comment.
Sensing a sneeze coming on, Betty dug through the handbag on
the pew beside her, searching for her travel pack of tissues. However,
her usual allergic reaction to pets didn’t materialize—at least not yet.
Thank goodness. She had enough to worry about without that.
Someone should vacuum that pew before Sunday services. Imagine
unsuspecting Easter pilgrims sitting on the cushion, only to stand an
hour later with hairy bottoms. Betty’s memory conjured up museum
images of Neanderthals.
Betty shifted her substantial frame to a more comfortable
position that favored the left hip. The wooden bench squeaked in
protest, but Ida Lou didn’t glance over.
Inhaling the fragrance from Easter lilies arranged around the
chapel, Betty sought calm. The new Hammond organ sat silently
in the choir section. Its antique predecessor had piped her wedding
processional fifty years ago when she had carried a white rose
bouquet down this center aisle. Donovan had waited for her at the
altar, tall and debonair in his black suit.
She nestled against the row’s end and pretended he sat next to her
with his heavy arm draped protectively around her shoulders. Lord,
why couldn’t Donovan stay longer?
There was no answer. Figured. Silence was the only heavenly
communication she got lately. Slouching down and leaning her head
against the pew back, she studied the oak beams of the arched ceiling.
Donovan’s farming family had crafted them with the same skill
they’d used to construct their barns. A sigh escaped her lips. History
everywhere around her, but not much future. Not anymore. If only
she’d noticed the warning signs about Donovan earlier. Maybe he’d
still be with her.
Life in Prosper tick-tocked as steady as gears in a grandfather
clock. Once, Betty had been at the heart of all the goings-on in the
church and community. Now, seconds measured as though they were
eons. Grief had become her constant companion. Could she have
done anything to prevent the tragic outcome? Who was she without
her husband?


No sense whining about what couldn’t be changed. But every so
often, as when she sat in church and nothing seemed altered, she
pretended for a moment Donovan would soon slide beside her on
their pew, and she would reach out to hold his work-calloused hand.
Aching loss threatened to overwhelm her again. Dear Lord, please
hold me close to keep the loneliness at bay. She would not cry. That showed
weakness. Betty inspected what the others in the sanctuary were doing.
Was there a Scripture about having a dog in attendance? The only
one that came to mind was something about dogs eating crumbs under
the master’s table. She didn’t want to quote that to Ida Lou. Imagine if
the clueless newcomer brought her mutt to the next potluck.
Betty redirected her thoughts to the task at hand and looked at
the prayer requests written on white index cards. Blue veins stood out
on the top of her hands, and arthritis knobbed her knuckles. How
could her body look old when she felt as though she were thirty? She
squinted at a child’s uneven scrawl: “Please pray for my little brother’s
ear to heal.” She offered up that petition, then flipped to the next card.
At the sound of scratching, she swiveled to the side and gaped at
the Yorkie, scraping its pink painted toenails along its midriff. Betty
pictured fleas with parachutes on their backs jumping out of the
swirls of fur to make residence on the very spot where Elder Stan
Stout and his wife, Melissa, sat every Sunday.
She cleared her throat, hoping Ida Lou would notice and make
eye contact so Betty could send her a disapproving look. But the
woman simply gave her dog’s head a gentle pat, staring toward the
front of the church with a distracted expression.
Betty uncrossed her ankles and tapped her polished ankle-high
boots on the hardwood floor, thinking that noise might get Ida Lou’s
attention. No such luck. How had Christ put up with pesky people
and their indiscretions?
Betty watched the tan dog crawl back into Ida Lou’s lap, circle
around once, and then curl up to sleep. Then, stifling a sneeze, she
forced herself to study the next card: “Dear Lord, thank You for my
friends and family.”
She slapped that prayer card face down on the bench. No sense
praying something she didn’t feel. Anger vied with guilt. Shouldn’t
she be grateful for what remained? What was it Job had said when he
lost everything? Something like, “The Lord gave, and the Lord took
away. Praise His Name.” She wasn’t going to be a hypocrite and start
singing hallelujah. No sir.
She wasn’t happy with God. He hadn’t answered her prayers.
Yet she tried to be faithful during the last year and accept her
circumstances. Her heart hurt, and nothing seemed to take away the
raw ache of loss. She had focused her life on being a good wife and
raising their son, Ben. Did she have a life purpose anymore?
Loud snores reverberated across the front row. Glancing over,
Betty saw the dog’s little chest rise and fall with even, deep breaths.
No peace tonight in church with that mongrel present.
Fed up with the dog, God, and everything else, Betty grabbed her
purse, heaved up to standing, and stomped her brogans down the
center aisle toward the rear of the building.
As she barreled out the back double doors, a series of gale-force
sneezes stopped her in her tracks. Good thing she’d had the decency
not to succumb to them during the silent prayer vigil. Then again,
a good sneezing fit might have caught the attention of the cause of
her discomfort.

YouTube playlist introducing characters with one-minute audio excerpts available at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5kuEoU7pFvU&list=PLf6ZzeQjavMcocMuZDOZUvLxZG48BiWm5

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