Rector's Note: Getting Ready for the Feast of St. Francis-10.2.25

As we prepare for the feast of St. Francis this Sunday, I hope you are getting your pets ready to be blessed during the service. Sit them down and tell them about the saint who preached to the birds. Read them the story of St. Francis and the Wolf of Gubbio. Put them in new collars and attach nice sturdy leashes or bring a carrier.

You can also bring in a beloved photo. Stuffed animals are blessing-appropriate too, in my opinion.

And if you have pets of blessed memory, you can bring their photos as well. I’m sure the Communion of Saints includes them. And don’t forget to bring unopened pet food, new pet toys and old quilts and blankets (no sheets, please) to give to our visitor from the SPCA, who will speak at forum.

We didn’t have the pet-blessing tradition in the church I grew up in, though there would have been plenty of pets to bless. I grew up with cats, as I tended to be the one who convinced my parents to adopt the latest stray I found.

But my first true love was my first dog, Annie, who joined our family when my son Jesse was about 4.

Annie was not a good dog. A low-slung corgi-beagle mix, she was an escape artist and a dinner thief. If a loaf of bread was near the edge of the table, it would soon be in her stomach, which could expand to fit any opportunity. In her long life (17 years!) she was pulled out of bags of dog food, off of turkey carcasses, and out of other dogs’ food bowls. She was a big dog trapped in a little dog’s body. Adopted from a Northeast Ohio shelter, we told people she was a Cleveland Yellow Dog sized small.

My sister-in-law, Liz, who worked for the National Park Service in Death Valley at the time, adopted her on an extended visit home. My father-in-law had recently died, and the family’s dog passed away a day later. Liz hoped to coax her mom into adopting a new canine companion by bringing Annie home and hoping they would fall in love. “I’ll take her home with me to Death Valley,” Liz had explained, hoping that this would be reason enough for her mom to want to keep the dog in Ohio. But the two didn’t click. Annie had too much energy for my aging mother-in-law, and the dog sealed her fate when she did her business in the bedroom next to my mother-in-law’s bed.

The day before Liz was to head back to Death Valley with her new dog, we accompanied her and Annie on a final walk. She lamented that her plan had backfired, and we wondered how the small sand-colored mutt would fare in the dunes and the heat. “You’re not interested in taking this dog, are you?” Liz asked offhandedly.

I gave this happy, little dog a long look and, without meeting my husband’s eye, I said, “Yes. Yes we are. I want this dog.”

Jess was stunned. This was out of the blue. Years before we had set aside the idea of getting a dog because we couldn’t even keep our plants alive. Shortly after that we learned we were pregnant.

But now, four years later, as I climbed slowly out of a fog of depression caused by overwork and the loss of loved ones, I wanted this little dog and all the joyous well-being that rolled off her into my life. So we took her home, called the landlord and offered to pay whatever fee he wanted, and she stayed for 16 more years.

Annie was not a good dog. She was a great dog. She would curl up next to me on the couch like a large cuddly bratwurst, with breath to match. On walks, she sped along the ground like a land-kite, bursting in and out of autumn leaf piles. She broke in the puppy that we added to our family at the end of her life to give her a bit of energy in her final years. She passed out of our lives as she came in, warm and friendly and ready to adopt whomever would feed her and welcome her next.

I’m sure she’s stealing St. Francis’ sandwich out of his hands if he’s letting his guard down as he preaches to the heavenly sparrows. I’m sure she’s slipping through the Golden Gates when some cherub leaves them ajar. I’m sure she’ll be lining up with the rest of them in my heart when blessing time comes on Sunday.

This is how our pets bless us, no matter how long or short a time they spend in our lives. And that’s why we bless them back when the feast of St. Francis comes around each year, with the opportunity to thank them again for all they have done for us.