Paws for meditation: if you ask Fido, "why did God make you?" he probably won't respond with the Baltimore Catechism answer, but he may just show you how to reflect on the wonder of God's creation.

Dulcinea is a real seeker of the mysteries. In fact, in the first few weeks she lived with me, she consumed a book of daily scripture reflection (cover to cover!), tore pages out of my Bible, chewed the ends off a wooden cross, and even absconded with a stack of brochures about retreats in the area. It seems as though she was just born with a craving for the spiritual gifts, as well as Milk-Bone dog treats and the occasional Snausage.

Dulcinea is a name that means "sweet one," from the story of Don Quixote--whose theology of optimism caused him to see only beauty in a woman with a checkered past. So I named my 12-pound, 8-week-old Labrador retriever Dulcinea (Dulci for short) because she seemed to hold nothing but sweetness at the time. Eighty pounds, two years, and about 72 pairs of shoes later, the name still holds at least half the time.

When I got Dulci, I was in an independent phase. Perhaps it was my quarter-life crisis, but after a messy break-up with a long-term boyfriend, I was pretty much emotionally withdrawn from most things, particularly God.

But watching this puppy, this tiny, little baby creature only just being introduced to the world around her with sounds and people, rainstorms, televisions, trees, water, and everything else, was a spiritual gift. I would sneeze, and she would cock her little head and stare at me like I was a mutant, trying to wrap her mind around this ridiculous outburst I had made. In contemplating her, I found myself unconsciously slipping into prayer and meditation--in wonder and in thanksgiving.

Parents can relate to this in an even greater sense, holding their own babies and being fascinated by the way they soak up their surroundings, struggling to maneuver and mimic. But at this point in my life, it was my dog who brought me back to a quiet in the soul, a wonderment for life itself and all its intricacies.

We've all heard stories of people whose pets have changed their lives, who have been, both literally and figuratively, lifesavers. A friend of mine was rescued flora the bottom of a swimming pool by the family's trusty German shepherd, Duke.

The Web site AmericanCatholic.org, a Franciscan ministry, has a message board where visitors can add stories of how their pets are signs of God's love. The stories from 2003 alone run nearly 50 pages worth--a dog that saved its diabetic owner during a blood sugar crash, a stray cat that was a companion to a bed-ridden man, a rescued dog that gave her owner new hope after a divorce, a cat who cuddled another as it was dying. There are reflections on ferrets, fish, horses, parrots, hamsters, and, of course, dogs and cats.

What kind of pet would Jesus have?

Animals are intimately entwined in the culture and imagery of scripture. Jesus is the Lamb of God; Jesus is also the Good Shepherd who takes care of the sheep (that's us). There are doves of peace, donkeys that take a pregnant Mary to Bethlehem and a revered Jesus down the streets of Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, and ravens who bring bread to Elijah. Animals star in the stories of Noah, Jonah, and many others. In fact, the Bible mentions more than 120 species of animals. Over and over we learn that God cares abundantly for all the creatures of the Earth.

Dozens of saints, not least of all Saint Francis of Assisi, are remembered for their care of and special relation to animals. In many saints' stories, would-be martyrs were thrown to the "wild animals," but the animals refused to eat them, presumably because the animals knew they were people of God.

Saint Francis is the patron saint of animals, and Catholics celebrate his feast day, often with a blessing of animals, on October 4. One of Francis' best-known miracles was a time when he gave a sermon to a flock of birds who then flew off in a cross formation, a sign of their comprehension of his words. Several accounts tell of Francis' attempts to convert animals, speaking to them and caring for them. He even tamed a wild wolf.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church tells us God surrounds animals with his providential care, and "by their mere existence they bless him and give him glory." It talks about the human imperative to be stewards of creation, to care for and respect animals and their place in our world. Not surprisingly, there is no mention of trying to convert them. I think Francis was on his own with that one.

But I do wonder: If God cares for the animals, is it possible they could care for God in return? If I see God so clearly in my dog, if I know that God knows her, then is it possible that she knows God--that she has some idea, however vague, that there is a higher being that created her and cares for her? Clearly, Francis of Assisi thought animals were capable of this knowledge.

Let me be clear that I don't think that when I'm away my dog is preparing a liturgy for the neighborhood animals or spending long hours in prayer and meditation. And I don't think it's necessary to "convert" her. But I think it's possible she has a sense of her creator.

When the dog of my childhood, Dolly, was dying, my very religious family stood around her in her last days and moments of life, praying that she would pass into death without more physical suffering. Is it possible she felt the presence of a higher power calming her, soothing her, as she passed away?

Animal instincts

The word animal actually comes from the Latin anima, for spirit or soul. The current meaning, though, has departed from its roots, now being used to describe a creature exclusive of a spiritual side. That's because prevailing science, until recently, promoted the belief that animals are motivated only by physical survival and necessity and are not capable of emotion.

But in the last few decades, biologists have shown that animals can exhibit concern for one another as well as altruistic behavior, reconciliatory action, and peacemaking tendencies. There is even evidence that the brain functions we use to make moral decisions existed in animals as far back as 5 million years ago.

What exactly does that mean? It means that the lowly beasts of the earth may not be as lowly as we think. It means that there may be proof that the connection people feel to their pets and other animals--a connection many others scoff at--can be reciprocal. The animal doesn't just want food, it wants you.

From Aesop to Walt Disney and my personal favorite, Babe, anthropomorphic--talking, thinking, loving, reasoning--animals have fascinated storytellers and listeners. People have always been intrigued by the similarities and differences between humans and animals. What is exclusively human? What sets us apart? Many would say that only humans have the ability to reason.

But Jane Goodall, one of the first scientists to reveal the complicated nature of higher mammals, says in Reason for Hope (Warner Books) that as soon as she stared into the eyes of a chimpanzee, there was no question she "saw a thinking, reasoning personality looking back." Goodall's work banged many dents in the line that separates animals and humans, like toolmaking and emotional response.

In fact, Goodall not only recognizes animals' advanced emotional capacity, she believes that animals reveal the mystical side of nature, that they connect us to God. A deeply religious person herself, she found that observing nature was a meditation on divinity. She says, "When I was away from [the forest] and plunged into the developed world, I found it harder to sense the presence of God."

What better way to praise and love God than by marveling at God's creation? "When I watch my cat slinking around the house, sometimes I think it's like having a little tiger right there in my living room," a friend tells me. It's a microcosm of the planet right in our midst.

His wife's lizard is cause for reflection, too, this time on the primitive reptiles--like a dinosaur, so ancient and complex with its spiny-ridged back and luminous green scales. How did this creature come to be? What kind of amazing universe produced it? For animal lovers, there is no end to the musing.

The pet connection

One of the "raising your puppy" books I read cautioned that some people get a pet "to satisfy their own emotional needs." Did I miss something? Isn't that why everyone gets a pet? Seeing as few people house domesticated animals for the purpose of farm work or even hunting these days, it seems that most get a pet because they want a pal, a companion, a connection to another living, breathing thing, something to pay attention to, something to pay attention to them.

Why is it that older people who have pets live longer? Because they're not lonely, because they feel loved, because something tells them every day, "Oh my God! I'm so glad you're home!"

Now that so many young adults are choosing to have children later in life, a pet can fulfill the want of something to care for and cuddle, and in many cases serve as a dress rehearsal for human offspring. Many empty-nesters also find themselves bringing pets into their home to fill in some of the activity and affection that's been missing in the house since the kids moved out.

For some people owning a pet is the first time they feel loved unconditionally, and for others the affection they show their pet is the first time they allow themselves to give love freely.

And maybe, when watching the news gets you down, it's nice to experience a part of creation that is unadulterated by the negative influences of American culture--violence and war, work addiction, cynicism, the politics of power, exploited sexuality, and the desire for bigger, better cars, faster computers, and smaller cell phones.

It's a blessing to reconnect to creation through a creature who thinks a stick is just about the most exciting thing in the world, that a new tennis ball is reason for jubilation, that squirrels and starlings are exotic and wonderful, who loves to be outside in the rain, who loves to get dirty in the earth, and who is happy as a clam just to sit beside you.

Pets provide love for the lonely and laughter for the downhearted. A pet's simple presence in the home can be a great reminder to humans that we, too, are creatures of this world, not creators and controllers, as we often like to think.

I'm no animal rights activist out protesting the milking of cows. I'm not even a vegetarian. And I'm not shouting, "Pets are people, too!" But I am saying it's a little more complicated than we may think. We may not be totally aware of animals' capacity as arbiters of the holy.

To me, Dulci is a constant reminder of the beauty--the intricate, meticulous engineering--of creation. Surely, she is a sign of God's love and care for us, for all creatures. And that gives me hope.

BLESSING FOR OUR PETS

Dear God, the bond we share with our friends of other species is a wonderful and special gift from you. Give us, their human friends, new understanding of our responsibilities to these creatures of yours. We are on this earth together to give one another friendship, affection, and caring.

Your goodness is turned upon every living thing and your grace flows to all your creatures. Grant to our special animal companions long and healthy lives. Give them good relationships with us, and if you see fit to take them from us, help us to understand that they are not gone from us, but only drawing closer to you.

Grant our petitions through the intercession of good Saint Francis of Assisi, who honored you through all your creatures. Amen.

--Excerpt from "Prayer for Our Animal Friends" by Gloria Pinsker (The Pet Prayer Line, [e-mail])

TARA K. DIX is assistant editor of U.S. CATHOLIC.