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Church Dog
By Evelyn Olson
 from
Chicken Soup for the
Cat & Dog Lover's Soul
Sunday mornings are a leisurely time
in many households, but they certainly weren't in
our Ogilvie, Minnesota home back in the late 1920s.
The old Methodist Church in Ogilvie, Minnesota
Church services began at nine-thirty in
the morning. Mother was the
organist, so she had to be there early. That meant all of
us kids had
to be washed and dressed with our hair neatly
combed by the time
Mother left the house.
As you'd expect, there was a lot of hurrying around to
make sure everyone was ready on time. That was trouble
enough, but one day we had another problem on our hands --
our dog, Brownie.
Every morning, Brownie was let out by the first person who
got up.
When we called him back in, he'd usually come
running right
away...but not on this particular Sunday.
We called and coaxed for as long as we could, but Brownie
was
simply nowhere to be found. Unable to locate
our disappearing
dog, we gave up in despair and headed off to
church, leaving
Brownie outdoors somewhere.
We arrived at church and got settled in, with Mother at
the organ. After some hymns and prayers, the minister
began his sermon. We kids tried to sit still, just
as we had been told to do, and not fidget. But as the
preacher began to warm to his subject, I thought I heard
something unusual. No one else seemed to hear it
though. But then it came again, louder. It sounded
like something was scratching at the church door.
We kids all exchanged silent glances and stifled
our giggles. Then the scratching sound was followed by the
plaintive sound of a lonely dog howling. All the
grown-ups pretended not to hear anything, leaning forward
in their pews so they could hear every word of the
minister's oration. But we kids knew that howl.
Only one dog in the neighborhood made that
sound.
The wailing continued and the minister paused
for a moment, furrowing his brow in frustration. He didn't
want to have to compete with a howling hound, so he
signaled to the usher to open the door and shoo the dog away.
But the usher was not quick enough for
Brownie. As soon as he
opened the door, in bounded our dog with a smug look on
his face!
He strolled up the aisle, cool as you please, as
congregation and minister looked on aghast. When Brownie got to
where Mother sat at the organ, he just plopped down and
sat quietly. A murmur went around the church and there were some
smiles and nodding of heads. The minister,
determined to ignore this unusual canine
caper, resumed his sermon.
The following Sunday happened to be one of those rare
Sundays
when we didn't go to the morning service. However,
no one had
informed Brownie of the change in our schedule. After we
attended
the evening service, we heard the story: In the
morning, Brownie
had made a commotion at the church door until once
again he was let in.
Again, he sauntered down the aisle until
he reached the organist, who was about to begin playing.
Brownie stood stock-still for a moment, staring at the female
organist. Then, when he had determined to his
satisfaction that she was definitely not Mother, he
returned to the church door and made it clear that he was
not
interested in attending this particular
service.
There were many Sundays when Brownie repeated his
demonstrations of religious piety and family
loyalty. As you can
imagine, this was quite embarrassing for Mother. There
were some
people who weren't all that happy to see a dog in
church. And each
time we got a new preacher, Mother had to explain
our unusual dog
to him. Since Brownie lived to be nineteen years old,
quite a few preachers got used to having that little brown dog
interrupt their Sunday services.
Shortly after Brownie passed away, our minister came to
call. After
consoling us over our loss, he said, "If there is a
heaven for dogs,
you can be assured Brownie will be scratching at the
door -- and
when it is opened, he will be given a place
right up front with the
best of them."
Marooned
30 Hours
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