Dog Park: The Story of Corbin & Claire

The Dog Park: a seemingly uncivilized place where, if it weren't for four-legged (though I have seen three-legged), barking, slobbery, unconditional love-filled creatures, most humans wouldn't set foot. Some are purebred, some mutts, others have an uncanny resemblance to their owners. I spend hours at the dog park every week with my Corbin Dallas (a gorgeous Australian Shepherd/Border Collie). The people are friendly and everyone expects to get jumped on, peed on (it happens - last week, actually) and occasionally caught in the cross-fire of a stampede (oftentimes fueled by Corbin's herding instinct - low to the ground, intense border collie "eye," thrilled with himself for getting 15 dogs to run for their lives...).

Corbin is picky with his playmates - if ever a dog had an opinion, it is him. There have been times when we leave the park because he deems no one a worthy playmate - he gets in play stance (bowing down, butt in the air) and begins barking profusely at me, telling me it's time to leave. And so we do.


It was last fall when we were about to leave the dog park (at Corbin's request) that we met Claire, a pretty Border Collie/Black Lab with a pleasant temperament and fast enough to keep Corbin interested in the chase. It was love at first flight. Claire took off running and Corbin gave chase. The pair would return to me and Lauren (Claire's mom) time and time again and Corbin would parade for Claire, rolling in the dirt, barking and whining for her to run again. She'd pounce on him with licks and take off like a bullet. I've really never seen anything like it.


Since then, Claire is the first thing Corbin looks for when we get to the dog park (sometimes he spots Lauren first and wiggles his whole body knowing that Claire isn't far away). Once they find each other, an immediate game of chase ensues - dust and polo sized grass clods flying everywhere.


Months prior to meeting Claire at the dog park, Corbin's regular Doggie Daycare (Camp Bow Wow Nashville) was closed for about a month for repairs after Nashville experienced horrific flooding. Frantic for a place to send him during the days that I am busy trying to rule the world/write hit songs, I found another daycare to accommodate his super-high energy and separation anxiety.


I dreaded taking him to a new place; much like the mother of a human child taking their kid to a new school mid-year (or so I imagine). But Corbin, being the dog he is and seemingly excited about having a new place to pee and me, having no other choice, got dropped off.


At the end of the day, I went to pick him up. He ran to the gate to greet me, jumping up in the air and barking. I asked the daycare owner how he had been for them. They told me he fit right in. He even met a dog that he seemed to bond with immediately and followed around all day (I imagined this dog "introducing" him to everyone - like the cool kid on campus). They gave me a picture of Corbin and his new friend standing on top of a doggy play-set and I put it in my notebook of sheet music - then I put the notebook in my trunk and closed it.


This morning (10 months after the photo was taken), I re-discovered the notebook with the picture of Corbin and his friend from the once-visited doggy daycare inside. I did a double take when I recognized the other dog in the picture this time. It was Claire. No doubt. Pink collar, white chest, speckled feet - the look of love on both of their faces.


I guess they've always loved each other. I don't know why, but it makes me tear-up; the provision of love and friendship even in my dog's life. It makes me consider the implications of the never ending love that the Lord has for us - to send what we need, just when we need it. A friend to show you the ropes, a love to heal the brokenness - a playmate when none other are worthy.


Today I'm thankful for the little provisions and so thankful for a God that teaches me things on my level and uses my dog to show them to me. He knows I speak animal.


Love,
Bunny Butler

Crocus & Smilax

Thirty crocus, eighteen tulips and two bearded Iris (I know they should be planted in odds, but I ran out of dirt): that is what I planted in my tiny concrete garden this weekend. Only two days in and I'm already looking expectantly; hoping to catch at just the right moment, a bud bursting through the nutrient depleted soil with festive green shoots and an emergence of springtime joy. I guess I am proud. After all, I dug a hole and plopped them in.

But the Crocuses are what I am excited about the most... They are the smallest of the bulbs - not much bigger than my thumb nail; enchantingly simple and lovely. Their carefree petals and small stature is what implored me to rescue them from the bargain bin at The Home Depot. They aren't as elegant and tightly-bound as the tulips or as dramatic as the Iris'. They are very not put-together. Something I fear about myself, but admire in others.

According to legend, young Crocus was a shepherd boy with a fine and noble spirit. He fell deeply in love with the lovely nymph, Smilax. Being impressed with the depth of his devotion, the gods granted him immortality and turned him in to a flower. They also transformed Smilax into an evergreen, the yew, to ensure the two would be always together.

I love a good legend to back-up my natural inclination at anthropomorphizing (something the Greeks mastered as well). When I read this story, it all made sense. And why wouldn't it? Two lovers combined for all eternity, perfectly complimenting each others uniqueness, subtly calling me, a fellow romantic, to plant them in a garden where they can just 'be.' This must be what Edward Cullen feels like every time he saves Bella.

Apparently I'm not the only fanciful person to be captivated by the story of this simple little flower (which, thanks to my imagination, I will no longer see as a flower but instead as two lovers in an embrace - all over my garden). A poem by Frances E.W. Harper called The Crocuses poignantly captures the essence of the flower. It would be a shame not to share.

In the everlasting arms
Mid life’s dangers and alarms
Let calm trust your spirit fill;
Know He’s God, and then be still.”

Trustingly I raised my head
Hearing what the atom said;
Knowing man is greater far
Than the brightest sun or star.

They heard the South wind sighing
A murmur of the rain;
And they knew that Earth was longing
To see them all again.

While the snow-drops still were sleeping
Beneath the silent sod;
They felt their new life pulsing
Within the dark, cold clod.

Not a daffodil nor daisy
Had dared to raise its head;
Not a fairhaired dandelion
Peeped timid from its bed;

Though a tremor of the winter
Did shivering through them run;
Yet they lifted up their foreheads
To greet the vernal sun.

And the sunbeams gave them welcome.
As did the morning air
And scattered o’er their simple robes
Rich tints of beauty rare.

Soon a host of lovely flowers
From vales and woodland burst;
But in all that fair procession
The crocuses were first.

First to weave for Earth a chaplet
To crown her dear old head;
And to beautify the pathway
Where winter still did tread.

And their loved and white haired mother
Smiled sweetly ’neath the touch,
When she knew her faithful children
Were loving her so much.

I hope you each plant something lovely today - a flower, an idea, a ridiculous story.

Love,

Bunny