It’s been a couple weeks now since Barnabas has been himself. As I sit and write, I realize that Barney’s “personality” (if you will) is something I’ve taken quite for granted. He is the quintessential Golden Retriever. He’s exhibited all the qualities that sent me on a search for a breeder back in April of 2003. I wrote about it back then – exactly five years ago. It’s still on-line.
Here are my musings -
I think it may have something to do with grand-fatherhood. Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about getting a puppy. A grandpa’s gotta have a good dog.
Ever since our Pastor preached one Sunday morning about Barnabas, Paul’s traveling companion, I’ve been planning it. Barnabas was also known as the “son of encouragement” (that’s what his name means), and Bill spoke with conviction about how good it is to have a Barnabas around. A Barnabas is the kind of person who notices the good things. He doesn’t drop anchor on the bad. He’s affirming. He cares. He believes in you. He’s got empathy – not just sympathy. He’s tuned in; and high-fives you when you’re up and listens attentively when you are down.
Bill suggested the dog a person chooses says a lot about his own personality and values. That Sunday morning he predicted that Barnabas would probably own a Golden Retriever, and then went on to describe the breed. Goldies are affectionate, loyal dogs, Bill said, who just like to be around. They enjoy your company, and bring out the best in you. Like Barnabas.
That was the morning I leaned over to Carolyn and said, “The next dog we’re gettin’ will be a Goldie, and we’re gunna name him Barnabas.”
I’ve been looking for one for a couple of months now, and yesterday, we found him. We met his mom and his dad. I liked them immediately. So did Carolyn. Beautiful dogs. Bright eyes. Alert. Eager to play. They look at you as though they are listening, reflecting your emotion back at you. They seemed to be everything Bill predicted. We brought him home on a breezy, sunny afternoon, and introduced him around the neighborhood.
He’s just a pup, and he’s learning his new name.
Barnabas.
Barney.
I think our grandson is gunna like him.
I know I do.
* * * * * * *
It’s Monday morning. You are a leader.
It’s up to us… to take on the mantel of leadership. To be strong. To encourage. To affirm. To trust.
I’m going to take some lessons from Barney.
Carolyn held back in her enthusiasms, mainly because after all these years, she harbored some serious doubts about my willingness to take up the everyday responsibilities of an ever-present pet; simple things like walks, and feedings and clean-up and maintenance and trips to the Vet. I promised, and still she displayed a slight evidence of doubt… in fact; she will be watching, and measuring, and remembering my pledge of commitment and attentiveness. But I think I’m ready.
And now that Barney’s home, she loves him, too.
When we go for walks, I’m going to think about how much Paul appreciated it when his friend Barnabas was there, coming alongside, talking about the things that mattered most.
(LeaderFOCUS – Barnabas April 14, 2003)
* * * * * * *
This morning, I delivered Barney to Dr. Evan’s office. We said good-by. It was a fast-growing cancer that got him at age five. Irreversible. Untreatable. He suffered the last few weeks. We didn’t really know why until two days ago.
Thank you, Barney, for all those walks. For the enthusiasm that greeted me when I came home, or when I picked up the ball. I loved to watch you run, especially when the setting sun became a backlight through your golden feathering – like feathers that made you fly. Thank you for attracting all those people whenever we were together, because they wanted to pet you and talk to you, especially the children, best of all the grandchildren. Thank you for getting Carolyn and I out of the house and on the trail – sometimes I think you listened in as we talked.
You were a gift then. And a loss now.
It’s when I write that I can cry.
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