After a week of unremitting Sturm und Drang related to the political drama in our nation’s capital, I was delighted to be reminded that the first Sunday in October – the day following the Senate’s vote – our church would be celebrating the Feast of Saint Francis of Assisi. In tune with other Episcopal churches in the area, its service that day, in honor of the good friar, would include a “blessing of the animals.” Members of the parish would be bringing their pets to be blessed at the altar rail. The place would be full of dogs (and probably no cats, for obvious reasons). Potential chaos. One of my favorite church occasions.

Kiki goes to church with me most Sundays, anyway, but she wasn’t ready for the unusual number of potential four-footed friends this Sunday. Right behind us was a tiny terrier puppy, smaller than a cigar box, who didn’t seem to mind Kiki leaning over the back of our pew trying to touch noses; right across the aisle, a large, elderly terrier spent most of his time in his owner’s lap, but also received Kiki’s up-on-two-legs-pulling-on-her-leash approaches. She had a wonderful time, and even got blessed – a far cry from what she hears from me when she chases away the deer enjoying meals in our yard.

It’s especially appropriate on the Feast of Saint Francis, the patron saint of animals, animal welfare societies, and birds. He’s usually depicted with squirrels, bunnies, and other small critters clustering around his feet. Legend has him negotiating with a rapacious wolf who was decimating townspeople’s sheep, suggesting a successful, peaceful solution. He also founded the Franciscan Friars. We had a friar stay with us once a few years ago, and remember him explaining to our kids the three knots in his rope girdle: “Got no wife, got no money, got to do what I’m told.” And of course there’s the great scene in Frank McCourt’s Angela’s Ashes in which young Frank, perishing of guilt, beseeches Saint Francis’ statue for forgiveness – unsuccessfully, till a brother, who’s sat down next to him, interprets Francis’ answer and makes things right.

A former priest of ours, a dog-lover, once posited that, just as we spend years trying to make our puppies acceptable in polite society, so God works with our fractious human natures to make us acceptable to him. An attractive idea; but if God’s in the mix, I think he also brought the dogs in from the cold to the warmth of our campfires to help us become human. I’ve seen Arctic wolves watching us from a distance and could read their minds – boy, that food smells good! – so it’s easy to see how it happened. But the obverse of that is that, in assuming an additional responsibility and forging a mutually beneficial relationship, we humans reached out beyond ourselves to another species.

Following a financial disaster some 33 years ago, I had become a pretty bitter, cantankerous man on the verge of old age, when our daughter Martha brought home Tucker, a Sheltie-mix mutt that became a member of our household and my fast friend, and reclaimed my optimism and humanity. She’s buried at the foot of the yard now, with a porch chair beside her, for me to sit in when we have our usual one-way talk.

Meanwhile, Kiki, her successor after a long interval, has helped bridge the gap after the loss of my wife. Irrepressible and extroverted, yet respectful of my necessarily long quiet times at the computer – she’s snoozing just now by my left elbow as I write – she’s been another lively character in a house that might otherwise feel like a mausoleum. Just watching her breathe and hearing her occasional sigh do wonders for many of the symptoms of old age and loneliness. I can only hope she feels secure here, and promise her to do whatever I can to keep my part of the unwritten contract between us., because...

All God’s creatures got a place in the choir.