Opinion : A Man's Divorce: The Dog

(Buddy Gatewood is a guest columnist that will be sharing his experience as he maneuvers through the struggles of divorce.)

I put up with the dog for many years. The Golden Retriever joined our family as a puppy around 1999, and during most of those years, I just did not like him. He got in the way a lot and was not very smart. And he certainly did not retrieve. I literally could not find any redeeming feature in this four-legged beast. No, come to think of it there was one huge plus for the dog. He did not bark.

That was it.

I was certainly the odd man out. Everyone else loved the dog. Literally. Everyone.

Most of the time I just put up with him. Yes, he was great around children. Yes, he just wanted to please. Yes, he smiled a lot. Yes, he was gentle.

But again, he did not retrieve. He was a Golden Retriever who refused to bring the stick back. I would throw the ball, the stick, whatever, and the dog would take a few steps towards the object, look at me, and then gaze at the object. If I was lucky, the dog would jog towards the object, put it in its mouth, take a step or two towards me, and then drop it. And then he would do his dog smile and pant.

I am quite sure the dog failed "retrieving" in school, and I am also fairly certain that if IQ could be tested, my daughter's dog would be in the single digits.

I was never quite sure why everyone else adored the dog.

My feelings did a 180 back in November of 2015. My eldest had boarded a jet plane for Japan and was going to be gone for a year. I was alone in the house and stuck with dog duty. I did not sign up for this. Unemployed and alone, I thought it would be a great idea if I started to walk. This would burn calories, get me out of the house, and provide time to contemplate life. I thought it would be good to have a walking partner, so I loaded the dog into the truck.

It turns out that God had a plan to help get me through this hell -- and it involved this dog.

I walked nearly every day -- usually about six or so miles. Rain or shine. After a few days of this, I started to notice a pattern. I would let the dog out of the truck and he always sprinted down the path several feet from me. He always stopped, turned around to look at me, and waited for me to catch up. He did this over and over and over again. When he turned to look at me, his tongue hung out of his mouth and he'd smile at me. His eyes sparkled.

I cried and sobbed a lot during the early days of the walking. Sometimes I talked to God, while on other days I would just contemplate in silence. I never listened to music. I wanted to be completely open to hearing God's voice. I thought a lot. I wondered how my life had shattered so quickly and so completely.

I am quite sure I never smiled in those early days of walking. I probably looked very, very, very sad. Because I was very, very, very sad. I was alone, alone with a dog.

I eventually realized when the dog stopped and turned to look at me and wait for me, he was making sure I was OK. He was checking up on me. It was obvious he had been reading me all of this time.

This happened day after day after day. For well over a year.

That smile -- it got to me. It stretched from ear to ear. I saw his chest expand and contract as he waited. I saw the grin. I saw the tongue. But I also saw that he still loved and cared for me, even though he must have known just how little I care for or about him. It was so obvious. Remind you of anyone?

Even though I was alone in the big house that sat on nearly an acre, God gave me a gift of a very loyal dog that took care of me.

I no longer ignored the dog at home. I often found myself hugging him tightly, telling him how much I appreciated and loved him. He just sat there and soaked it all in, with that same smile and that same tongue hanging out. We were buddies.

I now know that sometimes God provides protection and healing in ways none of us could ever imagine.

My heart was still broken. I was still sad. I still cried. I still chewed out God. But He provided in flesh someone in the shape of a Golden Retriever who loved me unconditionally and would listen to me, day or night, and smile. And what a hugging machine.

Who cares if he doesn't retrieve.