The unfinished dog

The Unfinished Dog

         As I sit at my desk my eyes keep wandering to a small unfinished wooden dog. It was carved by my great uncle and you can see the knife marks so carefully made by trembling elderly hands still sure of their work. He’s one of many carvings that he made but this particular one came to me after he died. It is a metaphor for his life, imperfect but still beautiful. But whose life is perfect? I know mine is not. Even with an imperfect life one can still see the beauty in these little things like this dog. He was carved in such a playful stance head down tail in the air like he was ready to play fetch with his unseen master. It’s a reflection of his soul; he had the heart of a child and a smile for everyone he met. He was quick with a joke and loved fully and unconditionally. He loved fire trucks and took joy in all the people he met.

I put down my pen and pick up the little dog. As I turn him around and around in my hands I look at the carve marks etched into the wood, wrinkles on an aged face. Creases from the laughter and smiles he shared through the years. His texture is rough, like the hands that carved him. Hands worn from years of farming and working the ground, fighting fires beside his brother firemen, and directing the traffic as the years took their toll.

           To think that something so imperfect yet so beautiful came from a simple piece of wood amazes me. How did he know what to make? Did he see this little dog somewhere, maybe playing in a park with his master or a memory of a childhood pet? What was the dog’s name? What breed was it? Was it young or aged? These questions fill my mind as I rub the blonde wood with my thumb and smile at the memories of his life.

           His life spent in a one room school house in winter and in the fields with his brothers in the summer. Spent fishing in the creek in his free time, carving beautiful things that he would bring to my great grandmother to bring her happiness. He brought everyone happiness his life long. Even when he was so deaf he couldn’t hear he would speak very loudly and his blue eyes would twinkle. Who was a perfect match for my aunt, a beautiful woman who spoke her mind but who loved fiercely and would fight to the death for her family should they ever be slighted. Together they made order of chaos and help shape young lives through their church and the fire department; amazing people who embodied all the love that was, is, and ever will be. I can feel that warmth as I hold this small wooden wonder in my hands. I know it is the heat from my hands but I can’t help but think this uncommon warmth comes from somewhere else.

I put the dog down next to my computer. When the day’s frustrations get to me I look at it and smile, just as he did. With a smile and a twinkle in my eye I continue my work. I can’t help but think he’s in heaven smiling knowing his small creation is bringing me such joy. He always shared these little carvings with his family, his friends, and at the local county fair where they brought joy to thousands. He would sit with my aunt at the carvers building right up until he died first teaching then talking. Telling jokes, guiding the young, and always there when I would visit. Their warm hugs and his huge smile were always there to greet me. After they died it was never the same visiting that building without them there. As I walked through that building I couldn’t help but imagine how many of those carvers there used techniques taught to them by my uncle.

As I get up from my desk after a long day I look back at the dog and I start to pick him up to put in my purse to take him home. Then I pause, kiss him gently, and put him back on the shelf above my desk knowing that when I come back the next day he will be there waiting for me as one last blessing from my great uncle given to me to bring me joy in a place where people forget that there are little things in life that are so much more important than deadlines, paperwork, and cost-cutting. It reminds me to take joy in the little things and if the big things were meant to be they will come. This I learned from a man of great faith, his amazing wife, and a little wooden dog, unfinished, and sitting on a shelf waiting to greet me at the dawn of a new day.