Dogs, Generation Hug, Gospel


PitBullHannahBoneShe looked a lot like this good girl, though her brown parts were darker, and she was thinner, and she shivered the way Sam does when I take him into a new and overwhelming situation.

It's new, letting dogs come with their owners into the soup kitchen. The other dogs I've seen are tiny, except for one rather oversized pug who still counts as small. I wondered what the exact rules were, and as I crossed the crowded dining room to bring milk to another diner, I went toward them, because for me, all dogs are irresistible, wherever I meet them. "Hello, lovely," I thought, but we never got a chance to meet properly, the dog and I. Only our eyes met, and then things began to happen.

I saw a staff member come over and ask her owner something.

"She's a service dog," he said.

While he talked to the staff member, he accidentally took off her slip lead as he fumbled with her and a backpack, avoiding eye contact with everyone. I was right next to them, and I wondered how this anxious dog would respond.

She went into a "down" and stayed put.

"I need to see her papers," said the staff member. 

"I know my rights," said her owner, a young guy with stitches in his chin.

Soon this escalated into a call to the police, a few minutes of high tension, a physical encounter I couldn't quite see, the dramatic spill of a bottle of red gatorade, various angry words spoken and the departure of the brown and white dog with her person. 

I have to admit my first thought in all that happened was for the dog. She was a good girl. In the midst of being challenged, her owner was opening his backpack to get her dinner out, a bag of Beneful.

Beneful One of my youth group members asked the question that really mattered, when we checked in to see how everyone was, to explain the underlying issues (the patron was intoxicated, and it probably wasn't the best strategy to use the dog to get him to leave; he put his hand near a police officer's face, and that's when things got worse). She asked what I want to know, too. "If you don't have anywhere else to get your dinner, what would you do with your dog?"

I'm glad I was able to say, because I heard the police officer say it, "The dog was not the issue."

Because she wasn't.

At the soup kitchen, the rules allow the person working the door to deny entry to people who are clearly high or drunk. But I know from many years of volunteering, and from discussions when I served on the board, that you or I might judge differently who is too out of it to come in, and who might just be better off sitting down to dinner. You or I might judge differently just what it means to be "beneful" on any given night.

‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.’ (Matthew 25:40, NRSV)

I wonder if I will see them again. The soup kitchen is just a few blocks from Downtown High School, and I drive through the area often. I think I'm going to get a bag of Beneful and put it in the car, just in case.

Generation Hug, Grrrls, Living in This World

Generation Hug

At a meeting with returning students, the class of 2013 heard a lot about how at Downtown High School "we don't put our hands on each other."

This is Principal J's euphemism for the "f" word. He doesn't tolerate fisticuffs and is ashamed that most years there are as many as three or four incidents of "hand on behavior," as he put it to the parents on Wednesday evening. He is proud of a recent year with no such incidents, practically unheard of for a large, diverse American high school.

Not yet indoctrinated to the language of the Downtown High School culture, the freshmen were a bit puzzled.

Perhaps if someone had said, "We don't fight here."

But they kept hearing the words, "We don't put our hands on each other."

So someone asked the question, "Is it okay if we hug?"


I first noticed this hugging thing when #1 Son went to college five years ago, or rather when I went to pick him up for Fall Break and all his male friends hugged him goodbye. I'm a hugger myself, and I have to remember to let others take the lead when I'm in the role of their pastor. Even asking doesn't make it right when you're in that position. But I love to hug even my less huggy family members — you know who you are — and my friends.

Hugging at Downtown High School, apparently, is okay, though LP clearly distinguishes between the
friendly greeting and the icky PDA that couples really ought to keep to
themselves in her opinion, thank you very much. I'm sure there is further refining of the ground rules to come.

(And if I once got in trouble for smooching by my locker, we'll remember I was young then. And foolish. Because my boyfriend's mother worked in the school attendance office. And she had my mother's phone number. And she wasn't afraid to use it.)

I'm happy that people have become less formal, more open and more expressive. It gives me hope for the day the world is in the hands, or the arms, of Generation Hug.