Every morning I have a companion in the shower. Nope, it's not Sweet Husband (this isn't that kind of blog)--it's Moe, my Welsh Terrier. I know what you're thinking. My family and a good number of my friends have all told me that this is a very strange practice.
"He just...hops in?" (with a horrified look and a raised eyebrow).
"And he just hangs out with the water coming down on him? He doesn't mind at all? He doesn't get in your way?"
"And that doesn't bother you at all?"
"Least he's getting clean."
The truth is, Moe loves, loves, LOVES water. This summer we tried to take him to a neighbors pool to play while we swam. We ended up having to take him home because he absolutely would not stay out of the pool. And the other day when I was watering, out of nowhere he just started attacking the stream of water coming out of the hose. It was the greatest game in the world to him.
But what's really funny about the shower is that--while the miracle of water may be a fluke elsewhere--he realizes that the shower is a place water regularly occurs. So every time I brush my teeth, or go potty, or do any of the other things you do in the bathroom, he has to come too. On non-showering trips he sits at the side of the tub and just stares. You can almost see the wheels in his head spinning, willing the water to come out of the spout, trying to figure out how to make it happen. If he had opposable thumbs our water bill would be sky high, but as it is, he just can't quite figure out how the water thing works.
But--and this is the greatest part--I do know how the water thing works. Go figure! Almost 20 years of school now, and I could have skipped it all and would still be fully qualified to be Moe's very own miracle worker. No matter how bad of a day I've had--if I've said the wrong thing or just completely messed something up--I still have the power to make one little dog go through the moon with just a spin of my wrist. Don't mess with me, I'm a powerful woman!
I think this story illustrates why I get so upset about animals who've been needlessly harmed or irresponsibly taken care of. As a law student, I've read hundreds of cases over the past few years about all the horrible things that people do to people. It used to really bother me, but I've gotten to where I can pretty much leave it at the end of the day.
When I hear about people hurting animals I'm completely different--it tears me up, because animals don't even really understand what's happening other than that they're in need or in pain. As Moe's routine with water demonstrates, we really are their Gods. We have power to rule their whole universe. Don't we owe it to them to be just, benevolent Gods, as often as we can? Don't we owe them a few miracles?