Life and Death Lessons

Pondering the recent loss of her beloved dog, Erin McCole Cupp observes that pets can be images, not of God’s personhood but of His love.

Pets have a lot to teach us about God’s plans for us.  

Eleven years ago, our family brought a rat terrier mix home from a local shelter. I had a toddler and a pair of grade school twins at the time. I considered myself more of a “big dog” person after we’d first brought a black lab home from that same shelter five years earlier. However, as our lab aged and became even less playful — if such a thing were possible for perhaps the laziest lab in the world — the family wanted a second dog. I caved to the request with one caveat: the new dog had to be small enough for the twins to walk, because I already had my hands full with the toddler and the lab. 

So we went to the shelter and asked to meet with the little spotted dog. The shelter volunteer guided us to a meeting room, and as she brought the new dog to us, she started by trying to warn us not to get our hopes up. 

“He’s really shy, so he might not —” 

Whatever else she was going to say about his shyness got lost in what happened next: the little spotted dog ran into the middle of our family circle, threw himself down at us and offered up his little spotted belly, gazing up at each of us in turn with eager expectation.  

“Wow,” the volunteer said. “I’ve never seen him do that before.” 

A couple of days later, we brought him home and named him Sigma, after a character on Doctor Who. I often say that we may have picked Sigma, but Sigma very much picked us.  

Loyalty and Protection 

Sigma was 12 pounds soaking wet, which didn’t happen often–he would only go swimming if the twins insisted. However, those twelve pounds were made up of loyalty, adoration, affection, and protection. For instance, his first week home with us, we had to take our car to the body shop for a minor repair. We brought Siggie along with us. At one point, one of the body shop workers very accidentally tripped over my middle child’s foot. Siggie quickly jumped up, put his front paws on the body shop guy’s shins, and gave an unmistakable low, warning bark: “You mess with my kids, you mess with me.”  

I apologized for his behavior, but the body shop guy said, “Don’t apologize. That’s the kind of dog you want for your kids.” 

Granted, he was only 12 pounds, but Siggie made it very clear very quickly that he would do anything to protect us. This was in stark contrast to the black lab who, for all her wonderfulness, probably would have cowered behind me and cried if I were ever to come under threat. Sigma might have been small, but he would have given his tiny little life to defend us, had occasion ever demanded. 

Sigma was definitely a “he thinks he’s people” dog. He had a collection of tennis balls and a thick rope tug toy. When we would gather for family Rosary at night with our knotted cord rosaries in hand, Siggie would go to whatever part of the house he’d left his rope tug toy — which looked pretty close to a dog’s version of a knotted cord rosary — and gather with us as we prayed.  

Sigma was there for all of us through the very worst days of our family’s life together. He always seemed to know who was having the hardest day and made sure to give that person extra snuggles. On those days when I doubted my value, worth, and lovability, Sigma was there to prove to me otherwise.  

Emotional Support 

I was Sigma’s “person.” There was even a certain person in my life who, whenever that person approached me without my being aware of it, Sigma would leap to his feet, snarling and snapping at that person to ward him off. It wasn’t until years later that I learned this person had been harming me behind my back for decades. While I was looking at the world through rose-colored glasses, Sigma saw what I didn’t.  

I often called him “my emotional support dog, because he’s very emotional and needs a lot of support.” However, he more than returned the favor.  

As the years passed, Siggie did not seem to slow down physically — after all, he only had 12 pounds of self to launch around–but his face started going white, and soon enough, he started acting very fussy, starting in late afternoon and sometimes going all the way through three or four in the morning. After months of poor sleep for him and me on this account, I found myself Googling, “Can dogs get sundowner’s syndrome?” 

In case you’re wondering, the answer is yes, they can. It’s called canine cognitive decline, or “doggie dementia.” The diagnosis explained not just his late-day whining and howling but also his recently developed habit of hiding in weird places, getting lost in our back yard, and, sadly, avoiding me. 

We treated him with medication, but before long, his kidneys were failing. Then his liver. Then his thyroid.  

We knew it was time to say goodbye. 

“Paws” for God’s Love 

Our pets teach us how God feels about our suffering and loss. The kids are all old enough, even the once-toddler who is now 15, to understand that dogs are family, but they are not people. While God retains for Himself the choice of when it is our time to go, God has given us the duty of choosing when it is time for us to say one last earthly goodbye to our beloved pets. Every pet I’ve had to bring to the vet for the last time has given me an image of God’s permissive will for us: He doesn’t want us to suffer or die, but He knows, in ways that we never could, when it’s time.  

From another angle, pets aren’t persons, but they can be images, not of God’s personhood but of His love. I’ve had a lot of experience with people tricking me into thinking I’m unlikable, unlovable, and not worth protecting. Here’s the thing, though: you can’t trick a dog into liking you, attuning to you, trusting you, and protecting you (or at least being protective of you). Neither can you trick God into doing those things. Siggie saw my worth and showered love on me no matter what others might have said or how they treated me, which was just the reminder I needed of God’s loyalty, affection, and protection toward me. 

I will miss that active, four-legged presence in my life. However, I now get to move forward knowing that anyone who tries to devalue me in any way, overt or covert, isn’t telling the truth. God is Truth, and He will go to unimaginable lengths to proclaim the truth of our worth to Him.  

Sometimes He uses little spotted dogs to proclaim that truth.  

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Copyright 2025 Erin McCole Cupp
Images: copyright 2025 Erin McCole Cupp, all rights reserved.