The Dog
Through giving His life in pain and unspeakable suffering, He has reached down to lift me and each of us and all the sons and daughters of God from the abyss of eternal darkness following death. He has provided something better—a sphere of light and understanding, growth and beauty where we may go forward on the road that leads to eternal life. My gratitude knows no bounds. My thanks to my Lord has no conclusion.
~ Gordon B. Hinckley
“Go up to the intersection, walk up the hill to the cross, and then go down to the creek”. My khozaika was explaining to me how to get to the village spring. I had asked her because I wanted to be prepared with a healthy amount of water for the next time the water in the apartment went out.
I focused as much attention to her directions as I could muster up, but you have to understand, I’m not good at paying attention in English so listening to a woman speaking in Russian with a thick Moldovan accent creates a large margin of error. With a fuzzy map in my mind of where to find the spring, I decided to go for it and if I didn’t find it I’d just ask again. Plus I wanted to explore the village that I had just moved into.
My village, Varnița, is, well, hard to portray. Any attempt to describe this plot of earth would come about as close to the truth as my chances of hitting a clay pigeon with a shot gun. I couldn’t do justice in describing the scattered, 10-foot high piles of rusty metal and other antique construction materials lying on the side of the road. Nor could I describe the looks on local peasant’s faces as they go about their days’ work, which consists of watching a dozen hens peck around in a trash filled, grassy street corner. And how could I portray six-year-old using some old, rusty mattress springs for their trampoline as a dog menacingly barks at me while I pass by.
Now, I want you to understand, that there are a lot of beautiful things about this town as well, for example like peering out my fourth story window at the local Orthodox church as it rises above the fog covered Dniester Valley. And in no way is this the ugliest place that I’ve ever been. That prize definitely would go to Nikel, a town in the Russian Arctic that is so polluted with factories and mines that all the vegetation within a five mile circle has long-ago expired. Now second ugliest…
No, this wouldn’t take that position either. The town just to the north might fit that distinction though. The town where I was unknowingly heading.
I had passed the intersection 15 minutes earlier thinking that my hozaika must have been describing a more traditional intersection not a crossroads with a wimpy two wimpy little road branches entering the main road at different spots. Realizing my mistake I still decided to continue walking to see what was up ahead. I had now left Varnița and was surrounded by railroad tracks followed by a line of forest to my left and a few homes to my right. As I walked I kept discovering these deep, circular, cement made holes in the ground. “What on earth are these holes for?” I wondered as I peered down them seeing nothing but trash and water pipes at their depths. With no covering to keep a wandering, overly curious kid away I marveled at how such dangerous traps could be out in the open like they were. Soon I spotted the bluish-grey crags of several 20-story apartment buildings a ½ mile ahead of me. The intimidating buildings stood completely frozen against the ambient, cloud coloured sky beyond. The dim light of late afternoon sun was increasingly losing out to the competing cloud cover. The cool, wilted breeze wafted in the smoldering smell of nearby agricultural fires. This was a haunting place. So, doing what any natural person would do, I kept walking.
I finally got sick of walking and was about to turn back when I saw an odd, stone shack on the far side of some lone railroad tracks to my left. I couldn’t resist the temptation to get a closer look at the shack. I cautiously crossed the railroad and made my way up to towards the shack located on a tree-covered slope above the tracks. As I neared the shack I noticed a large cement square with a black shadow creeping out of it. “It’s one of those weird holes again!” I went up to the hole to examine its depth. As I crested the cement next to the hole I heard something I wasn’t expecting. “Was that a wimper?” I thought. Immediately I scurried to the edge of the hole and curiosly peered below. This hole was deep, at least 25 feet deep; and at the very bottom was a dog.
The dog was a medium-sized, shaggy something. He looked just like the dog from the Benji movies that I remember watching as a little kid while my mom was at church activities. In these movies I remember there always being this black, scary wolf and Benji would always outsmart the threatening carnivore. Benji always had a way of being in the right place at the right time and outsmarting his enemies. Benji's Moldovan counterpart, unfortunately, didn't seem to have that same luck. The begging beady eyes of the dog nervously stared up at me. It’s once white, shaggy fur was now becoming increasingly soiled and muddied, camouflaging it with with the shards of cement, metal, and trash surrounding it. Slowly, but frantically it moved around in the dark cesspool of trash stuck in a hole far beyond its reach. Around its neck looked like some kind of Macgivered collar. I figured that either someone had thrown their dog into this hole or more likely, it was some Babushka’s dog who had a fatal curiosity with peering into deep holes.
I imagined it wouldn’t be long before the increasingly diminishing life with in this creature would soon succumb to its inevitable burial by death. There was absolutely no way the dog could escape unless someone personally a rusty, unstable looking ladder down to forlorn depths of the pit and pulled it out.
Now you have to understand something. First of all, I don’t like dogs. Dogs bark, smell, poop in your yard, and attack you. They’re so much more annoying than cats. I much more prefer the soft sweetness of cats as they snuggle up to you while your reading. Second of all, it is never a good idea to touch a stray dog, especially in Moldova. Packs of wild dogs roam the former USSR. In many parts of Russia where I’ve been the dogs are akin to wolves. These surprisingly mild beasts’ preferred habitat are warm Metro stations thus giving them their scientific name Caninis metroisis (okay, I made that last part up). However, in Moldova the dogs here are feisty little ratty dogs that bark incessantly at innocent passerbys. Had little Benji there had been one of those dogs I wouldn’t have thought twice about get him out. Wait! What was I doing thinking of getting him out! He could bite me once I got down there or even worse the unpredictable ladder could fall off while I was halfway down.
I stared at the dog for a moment walked around to the other side of the hole and walked back to the ladder. There was no use arguing with myself I had to get that dog out. I kneeled down and shook the ladder – it seemed sturdy enough. I uneasily turned around, placed my left foot on the first rung of the ladder and grabbing a metal pipe on the base of the cement I lowered myself into the hole.
Soon my whole body was at the mercy of the ladder and my rusty lifeline wavered and bounced as I carefully descended its steps to the dog. The dog waited patiently as I came to its rescue. Soon I was down to the last rung of the ladder. Naturally, I wasn’t too antsy to stay and hang out in the hole for longer than needed and beckoned to the dog. If it would just come over to me I could snatch him up and we could then climb to safety. I beckoned again; he wouldn’t come close enough for my reach. I realized I would need to descend to the very depths to which he was horrifically acquainted. I landed on the trash-covered base of the hole and again beckoned to the dog. This time he warily came towards me. I reached down, wrapped my arm around his raggedy frame, and secured him in my right arm like a runningback to a football. Immediately I started back up the ladder. I grabbed a rung with my left arm, pulled my body and the dog up and secured ourselves to the ladder with my left arm. I then grabbed the next rung and we slowly made our way up our lifeline like an inchworm climbing to up a frail twig. Both the dog and I were in the same situation, our fates dependent on the rusty, iron bars holding us up.
I looked up; we were already halfway there. We climbed upward and soon our narrow, cylindrical world ended and we were safe and secure. I let the dog out first and then pulled myself out of the pit. He quickly walked away from the pit, sniffed at a bush, and walked on his way back to the town. He was free.
I stood for a moment and watched the dog, relieved that we were at last safe. I marveled at how for that moment in the deep pit both man and dog were in the same situation. In order for me to get him out, I needed to lower myself to his very depths. Once there it wouldn’t be me saving him, but us both fighting for our survival. I decided that it was a fair price to save a life. For I imagined what would happen if our spots were reversed and I was the one hopelessly stuck in the pit?
I’m a religious person, a Christian. I can’t help but think of how many times in my life I have been stuck in such a pit with no way of escape. Yet every time someone has climbed down to my very depths, lifted my weak body under His arm, and carried me up to safety. Jesus Christ has been to those very depths to which we can imagine and beyond. His atonement was all-encompassing, infinite! And it is in Him through His atonement that I may have hope to find true freedom. Through climbing the rungs of the commandments of God, I find myself secured to a lifeline leading up to life eternal and the greatest gift of all – freedom. I now hope that I can be a tool in God’s hands to be a lifeline to those in need. I hope that I will listen to God, listen to His still, quiet whisperings to lead me to those who are trapped in life’s 10 meter deep holes with no way for escape.
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