Monday, March 8, 2010

Ode to a Dog Named Pig

He was a little dog, insignificant as an animal can be. His tail spewed from his back end, a blond tuft of fur puffing out as demonstratively as his nose pushed inward. A pekingese wannabe of mutt stock, he patroled the areas around his home in much the same way his mistress, a Roma (gypsy) woman, struts the streets of the Hungarian village in which we live.

They called him "Malac," Hungarian for "pig," or more literally, "piglet," as his tiny stature would dictate. An annoying canine of note, Malac tormented the neighborhood with his screechy, high pitched yipes in the wee hours of the morning.

No, there was really nothing redeemable about Malac. Given the opportunity, the long-haired mongrel would creep into our fenced yard and "pig out" on our dogs' victuals. All the meanwhile, he turned up his concave nose at the dog food his own master/mistress dispensed.

Malac was a menace, driven wild by our schnauzer-setter's wiles. Granted, the tiny Romeo could hardly expect to accomplish much despite his aggressive attempts to court her. After all, at full height, he reached barely past her ankles.

Still Malac fancied himself quite the ladies man around the village, it would seem. From one end of Mikepercs to the other, the village remains speckled with the a curious presence of pekingese-variation mutts. I guess Malac lived up to his name on many levels, huh?

A couple weeks ago, a new notable peace seemed to descend over the neighborhood. Truth be told I hardly noticed it at first. Then I learned from the boy next door that Malac, the dog named pig, had perished after trying to take on a moving vehicle. Needless to say, he lost the altercation.

Hence, I deemed it fitting to write a tribute to the bothersome dog who, in my humble opinion, was scarcely dog enough to be called a dog. Perhaps that's why they called him, "pig."

Very often as I blog, I seek some sort of spiritual revelations in the ordinary events of life. With Malac, I am hard pressed to find practical application.

Except that, maybe on some level, Malac represents what John Donne wrote about when penned the phrase, "No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main..."

Insignificant as the little dog was, he still somehow impacted and still effects the lives of many in a little Hungarian village called Mikepercs. For some it is a legacy of troublesome strays with pushed in noses meandering about the streets. For others it is a fluffy haired, pig nosed bundle of fun and faithfulness who will follow some child through all his joys and sorrows of growing up.

And if God, in His infinite wisdom, could see fit to craft the workings of this world in a way that allows something as insignificant as a dog named pig to leave a legacy, just imagine all the potential for legacy he must have bound up in you and me.

Let's not leave legacy bound up as mere potential. Let's conciously seek the kind of legacy we wish to leave behind, the legacy we've been called to leave behind.

For "no man is an island" -- not even a scruffly little dog named pig.

1 comment:

gyorgyi said...

awesome connection :)))