Valentine

Valentine.

Good names usually have a story behind them. Had everything gone according to our plan, my family would never have bought her. But God’s plan was different.

Our plan was for us to purchase a pup from the litter before her litter was born. Shortly before we were to pick up our pup, we had a call from the breeder. Another buyer had picked up a pup from that litter, and when that pup became seriously ill, she returned it to the breeder. All the pups in that litter died.

Valentine.

Good names usually have a story behind them. Had everything gone according to our plan, my family would never have bought her. But God’s plan was different.

Our plan was for us to purchase a pup from the litter before her litter was born. Shortly before we were to pick up our pup, we had a call from the breeder. Another buyer had picked up a pup from that litter, and when that pup became seriously ill, she returned it to the breeder. All the pups in that litter died.

The breeder called us when the next litter came. Several weeks later, we drove out to the farm. I still remember the first time I saw her. She was lying on top of a grown Elkhound (her father, we would learn), chewing contentedly on his ear, he tolerating it all the while. She came up to us, friendly and curious. My sister and I played with her as my parents completed the financial transaction and paperwork to bring her home.

We named her “Valentine”, because she was God’s gift to us, a gift to replace the puppy we did not get to bring up for Valentine’s Day that year. Like most Norwegian Elkhounds, she was energetic, intelligent, bold, confident, friendly, dignified, and independent.

She also was a very loving dog.

My sister and I used to play in the wooded area behind our house, and one day, when dinnertime neared, we decided to race each other back to the house. She took the usual path home.

I saw another, less traveled path running along the same general direction, and reasoned it must be a shortcut. As I raced up the hill, I looked forward to seeing the familiar shape of our home.

I did see a house.

But not our house—I was two houses down from our home. Whoops.

I might have been able to get away quietly, unseen, if it weren’t for the neighbor’s German shepherd.

Their pup—approaching full size—flew over toward me, pinning me to a sapling as I urged it to get down while it covered me with kisses.

A grey blur interjected itself between me and my friendly welcoming committee, making her objections known with barks which suspiciously sounded like “Mine! Mine! Mine!” 

The shepherd backed away, cocked its head and watched Valentine, who was now bounding back and forth furiously in True Elkhound Fashion, working to keep the German shepherd away from me.

I left their back yard and made for my own, a now satisfied Elkhound at my heels. I left knowing that had the German shepherd chosen to become aggressive and to fight, that she would have been willing to fight to keep me safe. I left knowing that no matter what, my dog loved me so much she was willing to die to save my life.

Scientists now believe that dogs have a special relationship to humans, a relationship so special that dogs will relate to us in ways that other animals do. For instance, did you know that dogs are the only animal who will observe a person’s face closely, eyes darting quickly from left to right to read our facial expressions? (The documentary Dogs Decoded contains this and many other wonderful facts about dogs. If you haven’t seen it, it’s recommended viewing).

What happened that day is an imperfect picture of what God has done for us—sought us out, protected us and loved us. Christ’s love for us far surpasses my dog’s love for me. Christ loves us so much that he died and rose from the dead to save us from our sins.  God’s plan for us is so marvelously unlike our plan for us. Perhaps that is one reason He gave us dogs—to remind us of the larger Story and the more wonderful Plan.