“A righteous man has regard for the life of his animal,
But even the compassion of the wicked is cruel.”
- Proverbs 12:10
~We Still Name Them~
by Duncan Cary Palmer
In the morning of the world,
God delegated to Adam—blood-red man of dirt—a high honor.
"Yahweh Elohim had formed all the wild animals and all the birds out of the ground. Then he brought them to the man to see what he would call them. Whatever the man called each creature became its name." - Genesis 2:19
Sweet Marshmallow in Better Days Gone By (source)
We exercise and enjoy that signal honor to this day. Upon each beloved pet, we bestow names according to our whimsy. These curious creatures worm their way inexorably into our heart. Life without them? Unthinkable.
Then before our eyes, and very much to our dismay, they age. Our animal children become infirm. Ultimately—harbingers of our own fate—they die and return to the dirt we all are made of.
However, between bursting into our lives, and their ultimate demise, the names we give our animals—names that fly from our lips and attach to each precious critter—take on history and meaning, dear and precious as befits each one.
Three eucalyptus trees
form a triangle in our yard, a recognizable plot. Since meeting his end beneath the wheels of a car, there Muffin's body rests below moist earth. "You're a good dog!" I assured him as his soul slipped beyond my reach.
Beloved Coco—especially dear as grandson Skylar's Favorite Dog—also shares that hallowed ground, now more than a dozen years.
Lost In The Kitchen (photo by author)
We are presently shepherding Mellow (short for Marshmallow), our doggie of nine billion names, through what we sense are the last pages of her story. Even now, composing these words, I am unable to contain portentous tears.
Three names;
Muffin, Coco, Mellow. Three diminutive persons, each a beloved member of our family. Each in their innocence suffering the curse that we, Sons of Adam, sons of the earth, brought upon this beautiful creation as a consequence of our rebellion against our Good God.
If this were the end of the matter, my grief would be inconsolable. Thankfully, I have better news.
As I write, Marshy is sleeping on her pad in the corner of the kitchen; for the moment, confined there so it is easier for us to clean the inevitable messes of her blind and infirm old age. Her legs twitch and her eyes jitter under closed lids as she dreams of youthful days. Soon, her diminutive body will also lie in honor among the eucalyptus, alongside Muffin and Coco.
Where is the good news in that?
I have become quite convinced that Jesus my LORD's great and very personal love for me extends to those I love, those I have named. Even the littlest, like Muffin, Coco, and Marshmallow.
"Are not five sparrows sold for two cents? Yet not one of them is forgotten before God." - Jesus, Creator-God
Thus I have no doubt that one day—one very fine day in the the morning of the new world God has promised—I will awake in Jesus' personal presence...
"Good Morning, Lord!"
I intend to then ask him to restore to us these precious little ones.
What's in a name?
Everything.
Marsh Monster, we love you dearly.
*FIN*
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