birdblogwhichisforbirds:

birdblogwhichisforbirds:

My God has a new smell.

At least, she appears to. I am no theologian. God, in her infinite majesty and power, is beyond canine comprehension. Her glory is ever ancient, ever new. Perhaps her apparent new smell is merely an artefact of my own perception. God changes her fur into new fur every day, and sometimes even has no fur at all when she is in the Realm Of Wet, but she is always the same God. But these last few months, God has smelled different. Her voice sounds higher. Her touch is softer. And when she speaks to the other Gods, in the inimitable divine tongue, they seem to refer to her with a new name.

(I say she: The Gods, of course, transcend our simple canine categories of male and female, but she smells female now. Perhaps this is a lesson to show me the true boundlessness of God – the Gods do not fit into the little boxes our minds can understand. But then again, it is beyond me to guess at God’s will.)

Since I became a follower of my God, I have always known that my God is the best and greatest of all the Gods. All the Gods are powerful; not all the Gods are loving. I was born in the world of Gods who were… less merciful than she is. Of course, it is hard for us to fully understand the depths of our own sinfulness. Perhaps when they left me alone in the yard for days, it was intended for my spiritual growth. Perhaps when they hit me, it was only to give me the chance to learn virtue. Perhaps when my old Gods zipped me up in a holdall and cast me out it was divine justice. I mean, I peed on the rug all the time and I was always whining when they didn’t take me for walks – do I really deserve to live?

I confess that when she became my God, I feared her divine justice. In my sin and foolishness, I had come to believe that the gods were only a source of pain. I moved from her hands, fearing she would hit me. In my unloveliness I fell upon the lovely toys she had given me. She was with me; I was not with her. And yet she asked me “Who is a good boy?” and broke through my deafness; she shone the holy light of her laser pointer and broke through my blindness; she petted me and I burned for her peace. I see the others at the dog park with their Gods and I know that my God is the greatest God of all. No other God is like her.

I know I am unworthy of the mercy, the salvation that my God has offered me. Perhaps it was my sins that caused her to weep so much in the past, to be so afraid to the other gods, to lie in her resting place for hours without moving, staring into empty space. Yet my God always showed me joy when I came to her. When I buried my face in her body, her weeping always ended. When I asked her to walk me, she always answered my prayer. Perhaps, indeed, it is a sin to imagine that my own sins are the cause of her weeping: how can I understand the mind of God?

But since my God got her new smell, the weeping happens less. She laughs more. She does not lie for so long in her bed. And I do not even need to pray in order for her to take me on walks. It would be blasphemous to say that I can know the thoughts of the divine, and yet I cannot escape the feeling: my God seems happier. And God has chosen, in her generosity, to share this beautiful new happiness with me.

The indescribable depths of divine generosity are, presumably, how she manages to tolerate the cat.

I’ve noticed the servant smells a little different these days. Moping less, too – which is good. This one is very sweet and I am pretty attached to her, in spite of myself. She does still keep trying to get me to eat that dry food, but I’m firm with her and after enough meows she usually gets the message and gives me a proper meal. You just have to stand your ground with servants – make sure they know who’s boss. Treat them nicely, but not too nicely.

I know one shouldn’t get too attached to one’s servants. When my last servant died, it really got to me. He was very affectionate, and never even attempted this dry food nonsense. But he was very, very old. I know that humans have very long lifespans – but not forever. I really shouldn’t have let him become so dear to me. It was… when I found him cold in his bed that morning, and it became clear he wasn’t waking up, it was a very nasty shock. I still have nightmares about it.

When I found my new servant, I told myself “don’t let yourself get too close to this one. You never know what might happen.” But, well, what can I say. I’m soft-hearted. She’s a hard-working girl, cleans the litter box promptly, doesn’t skimp on the treats, handy with a laser pointer. And when I got here, she always seemed so sad. I don’t know what happened to her but, well, I missed my own servant, and I understood what pain is like. So I’d snuggle up to her when she was lying in bed – which she did a lot, just staring into space and moping. I mean, it was a warm place to sleep. But also, it seemed to help her a little bit.

Since she got the new smell though, she seems better. Making those weird little human noises they make when they’re happy. Mixing more with the other humans. Smiling. It’s quite cute, honestly. And – you know, she’s young. She seems healthy enough. Maybe it’s not so terrible to be a little bit attached to this one.

She’s not perfect. It’s going to take a while to train her out of this dry food habit. But she’s a good girl, all in all. I’m glad she seems happier these days.

Don’t understand why she still insists on keeping that dog around though.

---

Tags:

#storytime #abuse cw #cats #dogs #gender #depression