A Tribute for Chayil
- Dorothy Patterson
- Mar 11
- 3 min read
Chayil is gone. I admit that he was only a canine buddy. After almost 14 incredible years, I will confess that my heart is heavy. Animals are not people made in God’s image, and it is consequently more important what happens to a human whom I may have to struggle to love than the interactions of a four-legged, black, 80-pound, box-headed Labrador Retriever.
That acknowledged, the bed of hydrangeas in my back yard—which my wife loves and were the battleground which we struggled to keep Chayil from invading—like a thousand other creations of God parade His mercy and love for humans through the myriad of blessings He bestowed upon us. And to me, the love shared by Chayil, or the love each human has received from his own puppy, is a special benediction of a charitable Deity! In fact, the relationship of a proud owner and a dependent animal remarkably resembles the more important relationship of a man with his God!
Chayil, whose Hebrew name means “Valiant,” was as he was denominated. Like most Labradors and far too many of us Homo Sapiens, he never left a scrap of his dinner to be tossed. Only for a hunt would he forget feeding time! I had to be careful about reaching for a rifle with simply the intent of cleaning the firearm or exhibiting to an interested fellow hunter. The sight of the gun spelled “hunt” to Chayil and apparently unleashed an internal traffic jam of emphases that quickly captured everyone’s attention. When sick, the hunt was instant cure! It mattered not what prey was available, whether mountain lion or black-and-white striped disaster! Mama loves the ducks that often raise their little ones on our pond. Chayil just could not comprehend why I told him that the Mallards were off limits. The Mallards obviously had a difficult time with the concept of total safety while swimming with a duck dog. Did I mention swimming? He looked like a black torpedo cutting through the water. And he tested the Atlantic, the Pacific, the Gulf of America, and any other body of liquid that he could locate.
The doorbell never chimed that Chayil failed to assume his duty of barking viciously (he never bit anyone but me during our rough play), but he checked out all visitors to be sure they were safe. And if his senses told him that caution was in order, we learned eventually that his character judgments were almost flawless.
Chayil resented the travel schedule of his master. But he was, like most canines, marvelously forgiving. What an example these sure-footed companions set for us humans whose tendency is to hold grudges to our own ruin! Chayil’s tail wagged so hard when I came home that his posterior swayed! And except for on a hunt, he was never happier than he was sleeping beneath my desk or by my bed—wherever I was, as long as he could be with me. What if humans were that way with God?
For some years Chayil worked Sportsman’s Banquets with me performing for all gazing dog lovers. We had, therefore, an unusual participant in bringing many men and boys to Christ. And he sported his own mount, a raccoon he took by himself one early morning. He would pose for pictures when anyone requested.
I think I know the theology of it all. But knowing does not fill the aching void of my soul. The house is not the same. If I did not have Mama now, it would be a cold receptacle, nothing more. My black partner is not there any longer to show his unfettered love. But the memory of him lingers daily and makes me evermore grateful to God for giving me such as animal and using Chayil to help me understand my relationship to my Creator!
Sorrowful but Grateful,
Paige Patterson
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