I have had many teachers in my life. Some were remarkable, some were merely effective, and some should have selected another profession. However, I would like to tell you about my favorite teacher.
Her name was Laverne. She walked on four paws instead of two feet. She had no formal education; not even obedience school, but she taught me a lot of things about myself. Laverne was a rescue dog long before animal rights groups began using the term. In 1992, my life had taken a series of unfortunate twists and turns due to a succession of bad decisions on my part. I had begun using alcohol and drugs, and as a result, I lost everything – not that I had much to lose. In a rare moment of lucid thought, I realized that my best course of action was to take a break and allow the world to spin a few revolutions without me. I entered a Christ-centered rehabilitation center in, of all places, Las Vegas, Nevada. After graduating from the first phase of the program, I entered the second phase located on a small ranchette in a nearby city: Pahrump.
It was for those interested in furthering their spiritual development, or those like me who were not ready to face the big, scary world on their own. As the detox center’s van entered through the gate of the ranchette, the first thing I noticed was a little terrier mix dog that eagerly ran out to greet new arrivals with tongue and tail wagging. After signing several papers, signifying my agreement to abide by all the rules and regulations of the detox center and settling into my room, I went outside to scout my new environment.
I spotted the same black and white mutt lazing away the day in the shade of a rusting tractor, keeping a watchful eye on the new arrival in her world. My attempts to call her to me resulted only in her lifting her head, then tilting it to one side, then to the other, as if trying to detect what danger I posed to her. About that time, one of the other residents who had been in the program for a while came around the side of the house and explained that Laverne had been abused by a previous owner; therefore, it took her time to get used to a new person.
My first week at the facility was filled with substance use meetings Bible studies and various other self-improvement classes, so I didn’t have a lot of extra time to befriend Laverne. However, I was always sure to say hello whenever I saw her. One day, after a particularly difficult substance use meeting, I found myself sitting on the back porch and feeling very sorry for myself. The full weight of my desperate situation washed over me like a tidal wave. There I was, 25 years old, and I was a regular “Ph.D.”; poor, homeless and depressed. I was so lost in the miasma of my own misery that I failed to notice Laverne get up from her favorite resting spot under the tractor and make her way over near where I was sitting. She stopped at a safe distance.
When I finally noticed her, I knew that if I made any sudden movements, she would be gone in a flash. Even with my attempts to befriend her she would run, so I sat perfectly still. As she slowly crept towards me, remaining on high alert for any threat I might still pose to her, I spoke softly in that nonsensical, singsong way that people reserve for those occasions when they speak to small children and animals. I knew that she could not understand the worlds I was saying, but I was desperately hoping that by the tone of my voice, she could sense that I meant her no harm.
This was my first chance to be close enough to Laverne, and I could see the ugly scars that covered her body. They screamed out in silent testimony to the incredible potential of human beings to inflict loathsome acts of cruelty. I could see the fear in her eyes as she skulked towards me, but I also saw something else: compassion. Hesitating for only a few seconds, she approached where I sat and lay down next to me in companionable silence as I began to gently scratch behind her ears.
I believe in that moment she recognized in me a sort of kindred spirit. We had both experienced the worst the world had to offer – her due to the evil of others and me due to my own unhealthy decisions. I am convinced that in her canine wisdom she knew what I needed the most at that moment was to appreciate that I was not alone in the world. In what I can only describe as an act of incredible courage, she opened herself up to being hurt again to show me that even after suffering incredible brutal and inhumane acts, she was still capable of unconditional love. I don’t remember how long we sat there on that back porch, but I knew by the end of it, we had shared an incredible bonding moment. I spent most of my remaining time at the facility in the company of my new best friend. Whenever I went outside, I always made sure I took Laverne a treat from the kitchen. The director of the rehab center even commented that he had never seen Laverne take to anyone as quickly and completely as she had me.
Finally, it was time for me to leave the safety of the center and take my place in the world. I hated the prospect of having to say goodbye to my friend, but I knew in my heart that the rehab center was where she belonged. There would undoubtedly be more lost souls coming through the program that she could help as she had me. From Laverne, I learned that pain, grief and suffering are not exclusive to the species of animals that walks upright on two legs. Fortunately for me, however, neither are the emotions of love, joy and acceptance. I don’t know if dogs are allowed into human Heaven. Perhaps they have their own version of canine paradise, but I pray that wherever Laverne is today, she knows the profound impact she had on my life. More than anything, I hope that I was as good of a friend to her as she was to me, and that for the short time I was in her life, I was able to make her life a little bit better. Who knows? Maybe when/if she happens to remember me, maybe she will consider me one of her favorite pupils.
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