Lessons from Gunner (for my fellow pet lovers)
What I learned about my walk with God after almost 11 years of traveling alongside our beloved dog
Gunner, a 100-lb mixed-breed, joined the family when we were living in Managua, Nicaragua, more than a decade ago. We already had one guard dog, but wanted to add a second to our pack. So when a friend’s puppies were ready for adoption, we became the proud new owners of a super cute runt-of-the-litter, complete with plenty of fleas and ticks to keep us busy for hours.
About a year later, we prepared to move back to the States. While we sold or gave away nearly all we’d accumulated, we decided to bring Gunner. This meant he would need to learn the rules of living inside a house. We didn’t fully appreciate this challenge until after his first night inside.
Getting help
When I woke up that morning and wondered where he was, I only had to follow the trail of destruction.
Two strands of crushed Christmas lights, half of which had disappeared completely?
An empty bag that previously held a full loaf of bread.
Only a few random foam pieces remaining from a 26-letter puzzle set.
The remnants of a deck of cards, also partially chewed and crunched.
And an empty Costco-size container of cheese balls.
The culprit was caught orange-pawed, or should I saw orange-nosed?
We still laugh about finding him that way. Who knows how long he’d been stuck in that container? He just looked up at me with an expression that seemed to say, “I’m sorry. Really. Now would you please stop taking photos and help me out of this predicament?”
It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he needed assistance. If he got a thorn in his paw, he’d easily look to me to remove it so he could walk without pain. But other times, such as when had an ear infection, he’d actively block me from administering help. Watch for yourself:
This left me considering how I typically behave when I need help. Do I run away, hide, or hang my head in shame? Do I stubbornly avoid assistance? Or do I willingly take it to God and trust the only One who can truly meet my needs and orchestrate my care?
Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will upload you with my righteous right hand.
—Isaiah 41:10
Staying connected
Gunner was always nearby. When we renovated his first home in the U.S., he wanted to be right there next to me, regardless of whether I was painting, scraping a popcorn ceiling, or resting back at the apartment.
Two-and-a-half years later, we sold that home. Of course we were taking him with us, but he wasn’t convinced. On our final day in South Carolina, we prepped the car for him and set out to finish packing the truck. I left the back door open and he jumped in. Since we weren’t leaving for a while, my mother-in-law tried to get him out and close the door. He aggressively defended his position and remained in the car, as if to say, “I am staying in this spot to make sure they don’t leave me behind.
Mind you, we had moved heaven and earth to bring this dog with us from Nicaragua, and had never left him anywhere. I had a few days of driving to ponder his reaction, and appreciate how often I, too, fail to appreciate God’s unfailing presence in my life.
Be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread of them, for it is the Lord your God who goes with you. He will never leave you or forsake you.
—Deuteronomy 31:6
Being led
We lost our big country yard in that move, so Gunner and I began traveling the neighborhood together each and every morning. We continued this pattern (with rare exception due to illness or traveling) for more than seven years. All throughout, not a week passed without me reflecting on what this dog has taught me about my own walk with God.
For instance, as a puppy, he usually tried walking me. Led by his ever-curious nose, he’d try to race forward regardless of the length of his lead. This usually didn’t go well. In fact, it was as if he was absolutely drawn to trouble back then. Don’t even get me started on how many times he tangled with skunks…
Once, he saw some other dogs across the street and took off running in their direction—right in front of oncoming traffic! He pulled the leash so hard it actually ripped skin off my hand as I tried to keep him from being hit.
As he aged, he settled into a much more comfortable routine of allowing me to guide him. (Here are two images from some of our walks last winter.)
He still stopped to sniff a lot—so much that I began calling our morning excursions “sniffs” instead of “walks”—but he rarely succumbed to your garden variety temptation any more. In fact, there were three little dogs who always yap-yap-yapped at him from the other side of the street and he barely even looked their way in his senior years.
When I consider my relationship with God, I realize how I, too, have grown since our early days of walking together. I’ve learned to recognize temptation for what it is and trust his lead, knowing his ways are always the best.
The Lord says, “I will guide you along the best pathway for your life. I will advise you and watch over you.”
—Psalm 32:8 (NLT)
Pursuing peace
In a dog park, with unfettered access to other dogs, Gunner met them with frenzied excitement. Stump wagging (his tail was docked as a puppy), he’d chase them around at a pace we rarely saw otherwise.
But on a leashed walk? His stance immediately became rigid upon approaching another dog. Depending on his perception of the situation, he might quietly maintain that tense behavior until they passed. Usually, however, he’d bark ferociously and even lunge toward the perceived threat. Fences typically increased the decibel level of the aggression on both sides.
In the dog trainer world, this behavior can be referred to as barrier aggression. I think it also happens to us humans.
It’s election season as I write this, so the first potential “barrier” coming to mind is political affiliation. If I were to walk by a group of people campaigning for a candidate I disagree with, I may turn up my nose and “be on alert” until I pass by completely. What if I happened to be wearing a shirt with a slogan aligned with the opposing candidate, and one of the campaigners heckled me about it? If I engaged, our “barking” could escalate quickly.
But what if I met that same person in the park, without any of the signs or slogans? We might strike up a pleasant conversation while pushing our similar-age kids on the swings. Or sit on a bench next to each other and reminisce about days gone by. The political differences may remain, but there’s always an opportunity for me to focus on the humanity that connects us instead of the fences that separate us.
So then let us pursue what makes for peace and for mutual upbuilding.
—Romans 14:19
Gratitude and rest
They say gratitude is key to happiness. And dogs are often so quick to show us lots of gratitude through licks and snuggles and various other forms of attention. Gunner was no exception. But you know what really stood out to me? It was the way he rested in our presence.
Sure, he might sleep when we were gone, but there was a different peace about him when we were nearby (especially when a pillow was also involved).
You know what else? He was more tolerate of change, minor annoyances (particularly from the cats), and other frustrations (again, usually the cats) when we were with him. The spiritual similarities are not lost on me.
Over the summer of 2024, his health declined rather quickly. We stressed over if and when to euthanize him. He had been such a faithful companion for more than a decade, how could we ever say good-bye?
We prayed for wisdom and guidance as we talked with the vet and an at-home service provider. I was filled with grief and fear when the hour approached. The man who arrived at our house introduced himself and, noticing our photo book on the shelf, he asked, “Were you in Nicaragua?”
“Yes!” I cried, “and Gunner was born there!”
And so it was that the man who cared for our beloved pet during his final hour—in Idaho—had also volunteered as a veterinarian in Nicaragua years before. What are the chances? He appreciated how Gunner walked with us more than ten years when his seven siblings who’d stayed in Nicaragua had died long ago. And he tenderly helped us say good-bye.
All throughout Gunner’s life, I was blessed. With learning. With joy. With companionship. And also with reassurances of just how much my Father loves me.
Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
—Matthew 11:28
What a beautiful tribute to Gunner. He was a great dog and will be missed. Love