The Early Years With Jesus

The search for the life of a little white dog

The birth of Jesus was one thing. But of course what folks really want to hear about is who he was for all those years when he disappeared from the Bible.

You can imagine Jesus and I in conversation if you wish. He did after all speak fluent dog, and we had wide-ranging exchanges that touched on many a subject. Our exchanges were of course telepathic; like all the angels, Jesus had no need to speak in words, since his thoughts formed wholly as single things and were imparted wordlessly by a process I have never been able to quite explain—as you can imagine—in words.

Think for a minute about how a thought forms instantly as a whole thing that then needs to be plotted out against a set of words assigned to it in order to be conveyed.

Now pretend that you don’t need the words and that the understanding contained within the thought can just be instantly implanted in your conversational partner, springing wholly into being within a single instant. This is what talking with Jesus was like for me; instant telepathy, a mutual exchange regulated not by words but by sheer intuition. That’s what it was like; our conversations were more like inner blossoms opening from within than strings of phonemes.

He taught me how to behave that way, too. Like all puppy dogs, when I was first delivered to His doorstep in a basket covered with a woven napkin, I was unruly and exuberant. I knew in my deepest heart that He would be my loving Lord and Master and that I would be His most loyal and steadfast disciple; but this is ordinary stuff on the order of every relationship between a dog and His boy. But when I met Him so much more was already at hand. I knew everything; God had prepared me well for this task because Heshethey  knew it was going to be a lollapaloozing doozy.

Deep background, all the files, you know the drill.

Despite the burden of too much knowledge, I was obliged to be an ordinary puppy for Jesus because ordinary boys need ordinary innocent puppies, not wise ancient dogs born many times into the wheel of life. I’d like to believe that I played my initial role well in this regard; I frolicked and gamboled and did whatever else it is puppies are supposed to do, for example, going peepee on Jesus’ lap and in his bed, which did not really amuse him or Joseph and Mary all that much. Eventually I allowed him to train me out of that (and to his credit he didn’t perform any miracles to achieve it.) I learned to play fetch with him, throwing chair legs from his dad’s carpentry shop until Jospeh finally grew weary of all the little tooth marks on his furniture pieces.

We grew up relatively carefree and happy for a Son of God and His dog, really we did. But when Jesus hit the teen years, things went south in a hurry.