INKY AND I

It was a radical change going from icy, freezing Michigan to warm, sunny Florida. A layover in Tampa enabled me to look the place over, inspecting an airport that may well excel DFW in modernity and strolling in spring-like weather. I was met in West Palm Beach by Tom Hafer, who ministers to a Christian Church in that city, who bore me to the Gold Coast Christian Camp where I was part of the program for a men’s retreat, which attracted brothers from all three wings of the Movement. We took a close look at principles both from the Scriptures and from the great documents of our history that will make a difference in the way we treat each other, if we will heed them.

Ron Mobley of the First Christian Church in Boca Raton took me to the home of Bob and Caroline Weinischke for the next two nights, while I addressed area churches. Since Bob and Caroline were engaged elsewhere until after my bedtime, I was left in their spacious home alone. Except for Inky, a miniature dachshund, who is as black as midnight and as suspicious as he is black. Realizing that I was intruding upon his domain, I sued for peace. But he wanted no part of me, not at first anyway. I even knelt at my end of the long hall separating us, beckoning to him. He responded with muffled growls, retreated a few feet, then growled some more, It helped some for me to call his name and to speak lovingly, even entreatingly. He would venture a few feet towards me, then retreat. It would have suited him fine if I had got lost. He wanted no part of me, but I was determined to cultivate some measure of fellowship, for, after all, two of God’s living creatures should not spend the night together as enemies.

Besides I don’t like to be growled at, whether by man or by beast. Inky, please love me!, I pleaded. But he would only stand at a distance and scrutinize me, suspiciously. He said to me in dog language, Go away! I may have been hurt but I was undaunted. Realizing that a gentleman should not impose himself even on an animal, I staked off my part of the house and minded my own affairs, while Inky negotiated his part. The size of the home made peaceful coexistence an alternative. But this hardly satisfied the dachshund (I want to say Datsun, but that is an automobile, isn’t it?), for he would now and again come to the door of my room, study me further, impose a few low-key growls, and retreat, obviously perturbed by my invasion.

As the hours passed Inky became less resentful and I felt a little more accepted, though 1 was aware that our relationship was one of toleration, not real fellowship. It was when he ventured close enough to give me a good old canine smell that I sensed real progress. I tried to play it cool, for one wins the heart of neither man nor beast by overdoing it. It was when he at last licked my hand, initiating me into his community, that I felt loved and accepted, a real brother. We spent the rest of the evening talking about the condition of the world. Dogs are apparently having as hard a time of it as human beings, though Inky is well aware of his blessings, living in a rich man’s house. He now seemed willing for me to share that blessing with him, at least for the weekend.

It was an adventure in brotherhood, with the situation being pretty much the same, whether with man or beast. I saw all over again that God’s creatures cannot be brothers so long as they stand at a distance and growl at each other. Had I only growled back at Inky—and can’t you see that!—there would never have been a covenant between us, sealed by a kiss. He would have been there and I here, with nothing ever happening except an occasional bark. We could of course have had an occasional debate or listed our grievances. He was, after all, different from me, being too black, too little, too much like a dog. I was too big, too tall, and too much like other creatures he had met. We clearly had sufficient reasons to have remained separated. But Inky seemed to realize that we have the same Creator, so he too was willing to bow down, even to kiss.

But even if its a dog, one has to put forth a hand.—the Editor