We are several days removed from the event, but I can still hear Will as he came through the door last Saturday morning. He was upset and saying, “He is dead; he was run over just down the road.” There was pain in his voice and his shoulders were shaking. I had feared as much. Cedric, our three-year-old Cairn terrier was dead. Word went throughout the house, and the kitchen became a parlor of weeping and grief. We all just stood there holding each other and crying. He was gone, a little dog that annoyed us greatly, but was never the less part of our family, and we were all traumatized.

I remember when we first got Cedric. He was bred as a show dog and was beautiful. His sire was a grand champion in Denmark. When the light would hit his coat, you could see black, grey, rust, tan and several variations of those colors. He was the prototype dog of his breed. The only problem was, as beautiful as Cedric was, he loved to play more than show; he loved to be rubbed more than he liked to stand. We got Cedric when he was six months old because the owner told us he was too docile to be a show dog, and if you touched him to make him poise he would roll over on his back to be petted. Since we were looking for a pet and not a show dog, he was purchased and quickly became part of our family.

Cedric was a complete contrast to our other Cairn terrier named Jeb.  Jeb is smart and obedient, but moody. He is a type “A” dog and seemed to resent Cedric from day one. Jeb likes his routine, his place on the couch, and when he is tired he is not interested in you. Not so with Cedric.   From the day we got him, he seemed excited about anything human. Life to him was measured in terms of affection—he would do anything for a pat on the head. While Jeb seemed like a “grumpy old man”, Cedric seemed to possess, in dog terminology, eternal puppy-dom. He was excited about everything as though he was doing it for the first time. It would heal your heart to feed him every morning. He was so excited about his lamb and rice dog food that he ate every day of his life. He never complained, turned up his nose or moped. He just had that quality of happiness and thankfulness—if that is possible in a dog—all the time. For this, he was loved. Though he had not been with us very long, he captured the hearts of our family. He was also somewhat of a Houdini, and there was no fence that would keep him. We always wondered how long he would be around. He was all heart and no head. Dogs that are escape artists and not much on the smarts don’t last long around roadways.

James was home from UT, and I told him we had to go get Cedric because Will wanted to bury his dog in the yard. With a resolute face, he grimly got in the truck. Neither of us wanted this task, and, of course, the sanitation department would eventually clean up the mess, but somehow utility doesn’t mean much when people you love are hurting.  We went to the place Will told us Cedric had been run over, and we were both overcome with sadness as Jamie held a plastic bag, and I placed Cedric’s broken body inside. We didn’t say much on the ride back to the house, each of us content to keep his own counsel.

Later that afternoon as the sun was setting, and Will got home from work, I told the boys to grab a couple of shovels and meet me behind the shop. With pained expressions, we discussed where to bury him. We tried under the shade of a tree by the old mule barn, but the roots were too bad. Then, we looked at the highest place on our property next to the east side of the yard and found the proper place.  We dug a hole and buried Cedric. After a few words were said and the sun had set, we put bricks around the small grave and went back to the house. It was hard. It is so, so hard to lose anything you really love.

A few days later Patrick asked Will if he wanted to get another dog, and he quickly said, “No way!” which was a natural reaction, given the pain of the last few days.  As I thought about that, I was reminded of what C. S. Lewis said about love and the only way to avoid gut-wrenching pain in this life. “To love anything is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be certainly wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal.” That is what Will was experiencing when he told Patrick, “No way!”  He was saying, “I don’t want that pain again.”

Yet, at the heart of what God is doing in redemption is teaching us the divine charity. He is teaching us to be people who love and love deeply. Not just some abstract notion of love, but the real, robust thing – that included loving people – but certainly dogs, homes, communities, churches and beauty,  as well,  which means the closer we get to the Cross, the more vulnerable we will be. Many have opted out of this plan, leaving relationships, churches, clubs, or friends because somewhere along the line, they got their heart wrung, and I mean wrung badly. Yet, this is the price of being fully human and being made in the Divine Image. To love anything connects us with the heart of God, and that means we are alive.