A Christmas lesson from Angus

LAST week, I was fortunate enough to spend a day or two with some dear old friends at their home. Well, when I say “with” them, I actually should clarify and explain that I spent quite a lot of the time with Angus … the family’s Scottish terrier.

From the time Angus clapped eyes on me, he must have decided that I still looked strong and fit enough for him to allow me into his sacred chamber … where he kept his most prized possession; his soggy, dirty, chewed-up tennis ball, and we should play together.

In no time, Angus taught me the rules: I tossed the ball across the yard, and he zoomed along on his stumpy legs at what he believed was light speed to retrieve it. His humans warned me: “Don’t play with him; he won’t let you stop.” 

They were right. Rain or shine, Angus needed to play “ballie”. He even dropped the ball in front of the family car as they tried to drive off, as if teaching the Toyota to fetch!

But let’s not assume that Angus is shallow and narrow-minded. In the two days I spent with him, I realised that it was not so much about the tennis ball … it was about the connection, the bond between our species.

One morning, I woke up and went outside, and young Angus greeted me enthusiastically and bolted around the yard looking for the ball, which was nowhere to be found. Realising that I might lose interest, he picked up a stick and brought it to me so that we could resume the previous day’s game.

However, the twig he’d selected in the emergency situation proved to be unsuitable; it was too light and I couldn’t throw it far enough for his satisfaction. So Angus made an executive decision, discarded the stick, and brought me a stone … and the game went on, and on, and on. 

Needless to say, the next morning, the muscle rub came in handy.

A day after I left, I was scrolling through social media when I saw a post from Angus’s human: “I had to play soccer all day.” Apparently, Angus was missing me, and they had to step in to fill the void.

That made me think, and my thinking led to a quick bit of research. I initially planned to write something about how focusing on one goal, like Angus and his tennis ball, could be the catalyst for success, and I thought that I had nailed the narrative. I say this because Angus is a name of Celtic origin that means “One choice” or “One strength”. 

But as I thought about it, the layers started peeling off. I realised that Angus wasn’t fixated on the object; he was committed to the relationship. Whether ball, stick, or stone, his joy was in the bond.

And then it struck me …

Angus had taught me that Christmas, though the celebration has become peppered with tinsel, trees, and trimmings, and gifts and festivities, is ultimately more about relationships and bonding than all of that.

Those who celebrate the traditional Christmas and acknowledge the reason for the season will tell you that the baby who was once laid in a manger in Bethlehem is a message from heaven to the world proclaiming that God will do anything, go to any lengths, to fill the void that was created when humankind turned away from Him.

To Him it’s all about a restored relationship, and though God is said to be infinite in power, wisdom and glory, a being totally beyond our comprehension, Angus reminded me that for God, in the end, it’s all about the connection, the bond between us and Him.