I grew up in the country - the "sticks." Actually it was more of a swamp...but we won't go there today.
The attitude of just about everyone who lived there toward their animals was one of ownership. Whether the cow in the barn, the chicken in the henhouse or the family dog - animals were chattel. They didn't have feelings. You could do what you liked with them.
As a sensitive child growing up in this atmosphere, it galled me when people would leave their animal tied up and only provide food and water for it, then wonder why it got vicious.
One family's pony was so neglected and treated like the family lawnmower (if it got out of the barn at all), made to carry people far too heavy for it and for far too long a time until the people grew tired of the amusement of their feet dragging on the ground, that it snapped at the people who abused it - and ended up being shot because it "got mean." Things like that happened all the time. And when I got incensed about it and wanted to retaliate, I was told it wasn't any of my business, that people had a right to do anything they wanted because it was "their animal."
I remember as a child being yelled at by a neighbour for spending time with her dog when he was obviously dying of loneliness chained up outside. The picture of that dog just sitting there, mindlessly winding himself around that pole, and me powerless to help - has haunted me on and off for years.
I found myself thinking about that image recently and I wondered why it would strike me again now, forty years later.
Then I realized that it was because I've seen too many people dying of loneliness tethered to rules and regulations, living their lives on a tether of shoulds and oughtas. I lived there for many years. It's so restrictive, punitive and oppressive - when for me the epitome of relationship with God more closely resembles not a tether, but a leash. The leash symbolizes being "with" rather than being "left".
The scenery is ever-changing, but the company is what counts - and something to which I look forward. Every time.
The attitude of just about everyone who lived there toward their animals was one of ownership. Whether the cow in the barn, the chicken in the henhouse or the family dog - animals were chattel. They didn't have feelings. You could do what you liked with them.
One family's pony was so neglected and treated like the family lawnmower (if it got out of the barn at all), made to carry people far too heavy for it and for far too long a time until the people grew tired of the amusement of their feet dragging on the ground, that it snapped at the people who abused it - and ended up being shot because it "got mean." Things like that happened all the time. And when I got incensed about it and wanted to retaliate, I was told it wasn't any of my business, that people had a right to do anything they wanted because it was "their animal."
I remember as a child being yelled at by a neighbour for spending time with her dog when he was obviously dying of loneliness chained up outside. The picture of that dog just sitting there, mindlessly winding himself around that pole, and me powerless to help - has haunted me on and off for years.
I found myself thinking about that image recently and I wondered why it would strike me again now, forty years later. Then I realized that it was because I've seen too many people dying of loneliness tethered to rules and regulations, living their lives on a tether of shoulds and oughtas. I lived there for many years. It's so restrictive, punitive and oppressive - when for me the epitome of relationship with God more closely resembles not a tether, but a leash. The leash symbolizes being "with" rather than being "left".
The scenery is ever-changing, but the company is what counts - and something to which I look forward. Every time.
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