After visiting me the other day, my friend Heidi went home and discovered a weapon of mass destruction (WMD) had been detonated in her house. And that WMD has a name: Worf, Heidi’s thoroughly neurotic dog.
While my friend was watching football games at our house, Worf had actually escaped the laundry room Heidi thought he was contained in and was going on a clawing and chewing spree around her house. It looked like a pack of crazed beavers had gone berserk in there.
Worf is a very cute shar-pei—the “wrinkle dogs”—and he’s very affectionate and lovable when he’s not destroying things. Heidi has done lots of research and tried all kinds of things to deal with Worf’s anxiety issues, but to no avail.
I know a bit about weird dogs. My husband and I have owned three shar-peis and our last one, Winston, had a few screws loose, too. But Heidi’s pup kicks the crazy up to a whole new level.
His oddities began to emerge when Worf, for no apparent reason, became terrified of walking across hardwood floors. A quirky fear, to be sure, and very inconvenient since Heidi’s house is full of hardwood floors, but at least it wasn’t destructive.
Things changed when Worf seemed to get in touch with his inner beaver and nearly destroyed some wooden Adirondack chairs, a “snack” that caused the pooch all manner of ghastly digestive problems, the details of which I’ll mercifully refrain from sharing.
Then Worf began gnawing on other things and making a mess of Heidi’s leather couches. Thinking he might be feeling trapped, Heidi installed a doggie door so he and Meizi, her other, more-normal shar-pei, could go into her fenced-in backyard. But then Worf learned to dig—not typical behavior for shar-peis—and began tunneling under the fence.
Heidi, who has a busy and demanding job as a physical therapist, started getting all sorts of texts and calls from neighbors: “Your dog is sleeping in the middle of the road … your dog is in my yard … your dogs are going around the neighborhood and visiting all the other dogs.”
My friend, who has given me permission to share this story, then firmly anchored down the mangled fence and tried to block Worf’s favorite points of escape with heavy pieces of wood and stones. Alas, nothing could contain him.
Things escalated. The more determined Worf became, the more determined Heidi became. She finally invested in an invisible electric fence that beeps and gently shocks dogs when they try to go beyond its boundaries, but Worf found two miniscule sections that weren’t covered and got out. Heidi piled more stones in front of the fence. Worf knocked them down. Heidi’s vet recommended anxiety medication (for the dog, not for her), but it didn’t help.
It was like watching a cartoon battle. Tom versus Jerry, Roadrunner versus Wile E. Coyote, Elmer Fudd versus Bugs Bunny.
Thinking about it, Worf actually reminds me of people I’ve known who deny or rebel against God, always feeling restless and trapped, constantly looking for something to satisfy them, and often leaving destruction in their wake.
St. Augustine famously wrote, “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in You.” He nailed it. I know because I’ve been that person. I’ve been a Worf. No person or thing could calm or fill my restless heart … until Jesus did.
“Take my yoke upon you,” Jesus said, “and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.”
It’s so good to be enfolded in Christ’s love and grace, to experience His rest. Why do we ever resist it?