A week ago I leashed up my dogs and walked to a small church up the street from the home I just purchased with my husband in Northwest Washington, D.C. Now anyone who knows me well is probably doing a double take right now as they know I am an outspoken critic of organized religion, so let me explain to you the occasion of my visit.

     A sign hung outside of the Cleveland Park Congregational United Church of Christ for a few weeks announcing “The Blessing of the Animals”, I made a mental note, but as that is no longer much good in this 45 year old brain, I entered it into my blackberry too. Last Sunday dawned sunlit, crisp and autumnal with that wood burning smell that takes you back to childhood and acts as a magnetic force, pulling you outside to enjoy the splendors of the season before the harsh, raw winter sets in for the duration.

     Many of you out there may have noticed similar signs outside of houses of worship this time of year. This celebration of the animals commemorates the feast day of Saint Francis of Assisi. St. Francis is my favorite saint, not to be confused with St. Francis Xavier, founder of the Jesuit order and another cool saint, because, let’s face it, Jesuits are the coolest Catholics. I digress.

     I love St. Francis for his non-conformism. His dad was a wealthy guy back in the day in Umbria and while Francesco, not his given name but a nickname because of his facility with French and his dad’s love of all things French, including Francis’ mother, enjoyed the refinements of his birthright; he also demonstrated early proclivities towards a more charitable life. Let’s face it, St. Francis, if he were alive today would either be a judge on Project Runway or an Occupy Wall Street protester. There’s no way of knowing in what direction this modern world would have sent him.

     Back to my original train of thought; an odd place for me to be on any given Sunday is church, actually for any given day, ever.  I don’t go to church because I feel that sitting in a box with strangers, listening to sermons is not on the top of my priority list for me or my family, not to mention the germs. Paganism really suits me better. I derive strength and inspiration from nature. To me, the sun creates life, the moon makes the tides surge and stone protects us from the elements.

     St. Francis was really a man before his time, an environmentalist prior to pollution. He foresaw Nature Deficit Disorder as a hindrance to humankind’s connection to the earth. He eschewed la dolce vita; preferring people forswear sartorial splendors for pauper’s rags and awaken to a more altruistic mission. I think that this getting back to simplicity is what drew him to nature; he postulated that all animals were his brothers and sisters as well as humanity and reportedly had a taming influence on the wild beasts.

     My awakening to St. Francis of Assisi dates back to the first dog that I owned as an adult. Tyler was a large dog of unknown lineage. Some surmised he was a Briard, others considered him one of the earliest examples of the new hit on the designer dog scene, a Golden Doodle. Despite his undignified origins, he had a charismatic bearing, approximately 100 pounds of long, glossy black hair and an austere demeanor.

     At the age of 10, Tyler was diagnosed with Osteosarcoma, bone cancer in one of his hind legs; I used to remember which but can’t be sure anymore.  My options were grim; either euthanize Tyler or have his leg amputated. Our vet decided to X-ray Tyler’s lungs to make sure he had no metastasis there, which is apparently a common complication of such an advanced Osteosarcoma. Well, there were no spots visible on his lungs, which didn’t mean he was entirely out of the woods; they  could have been there, but invisible at the time. I decided to study on the matter for a few days, which is really all I had due to the aggressiveness of the cancer and the pain it was causing my dear beast.

     I watched Tyler for these precious days; he was eating, playing and most importantly he still had a twinkle in his eye. My life was such, at the time, that I had the luxury of nursing him after a surgery, so I decided to go for it. Tyler went in for surgery on a delightful July day on Sugar Loaf Mountain. The veterinary clinic was special and reassuring. I remember a window with a tranquil view of the mountainous woods with speckled light shining through the glass. Tyler was in good hands. I picked my boy up the next day, and there he hobbled to me, unsure of his circumstances. I know dogs have no complex thought but this was not your average creature; he must have been stressed with his sudden lack of balance, pain and fog of surgery.

     The first few days were tough and I must admit; there were moments when I questioned my decision. Was I being selfish? Had I caused him more physical suffering? But as the days passed, he gained strength and balance. We started with short walks, up the street to the third house, then back again. I slowly increased his distance, all the time you could see his determination, building fortitude in his existing hind leg.

     I remember taking him in for a post-op visit with Dr. Zolkiewicz, our dedicated young vet, and the good doctor was cautiously pleased with Tyler’s progress. I still remember Dr. Z’s caveat though…

     “Listen Stephanie, remember he is a 10 year old dog with Osteosarcoma. Just because he is doing well now, doesn’t mean the cancer is gone, more than likely it’s there in his lungs, only in a microscopic form. I still only give him 6 months.”

     “I know; but he’s happy now. He can swim and play and do all his old activities, so it was worth it”, I replied.

     I don’t recall how I heard about the service, but I know what drew me to it. It was “The Blessing of the Animals” at a local senior citizens’ home. I didn’t go expecting much. I thought, well, I might as well take him and cover all the bases. It can’t hurt, right?

     As I entered the grounds of the old Victorian home, augmented to accommodate more souls, I gazed at the many critters; cats in cages meowing unhappily, terriers and slobbering Labradors, ferrets and goldfish in bowls. There was a peaceable air about the place. People lined up in front of ministers as they read their benedictions. I approached a minister with a kindly face and soft manner. He contemplated Tyler with gentle affection and a searching expression. I explained Tyler’s appearance and circumstances.

     To say what happened next was miraculous would be an overstatement, but let me be clear, my experience was extraordinary. The good clergyman placed hands on Tyler. He uttered a blessing in the name of good Francesco of Assisi, then, spoke directly to God and canine asking for a cure for my beast. It was the feeling that entered me that I recall to this day. It was a pleasant wave of contentment and warmth. I felt that Tyler was loved. This meant so much to me because I have always maintained that a higher being would be pleased and interested in all its creatures with commensurateness and I knew this to be true at this moment.

     Fast forward 9 months to Dr. Zolkiewicz’s office; In I walked with Tyler, when another one of the vets in the practice saw us. He automatically remembered Tyler, as Ty Ty was an unforgettable brute. The vet’s eyes widened much like Charlie Chaplin in a silent movie, with overt surprise. He then looked at me and said, “Is this a ghost? Isn’t he the dog that had Osteosarcoma? I can’t believe he’s still alive.”

     Tyler lived another 2 ½ years after his surgery. He died at the ripe old age of 12 ½, a good life for such a large canine. He outlived all the prognostications by the experts for his future. No one knows for sure how Tyler beat the odds including me. I do know that he had St. Francis on his side though.

     So approximately 14 years after I entered that “Blessing of the Animals” with Tyler so many years ago, I found myself returning, albeit to a different venue and under a different inducement.  I had my 2 dogs with me, both healthy and happy. I just wanted to go and see the creatures and feel the brotherhood of animals and their people. I had Bruder and Louise blessed by a lovely red headed woman that wore the map of Ireland on her face. She smiled gently at them and I knew that a higher being had bestowed a blessing on these two docile beasts.

     The observance was a celebration of pets, kinship and stewardship of the earth. Perhaps the most poignant moment was when the minister that presided over the ceremony asked for a time of remembrance to honor beloved pets that had passed by speaking their names aloud. I named a little dog that I had gotten after Tyler, who died suddenly and far too young. As I said his name emotion flowed through me and tears fell for him and all of my cherished pets that loved without condition.

The End.