Big Red Dogs and Porcupines

by Bud Surles

from Lindie Gibson

“This then is how you should pray . . . forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.” Matt. 6:12 We glorify God by our forgiveness. Put negatively, there are few ways humans bring greater dishonor to God than through our unforgiveness. Unforgiveness causes our lives to get cold, stony, and unlovable. But seldom does unforgiveness do damage to the object of our bitterness. Take Burgundy for example. Burgundy was the most beautiful of dogs. She was a dream come true for me. I had always fantasied of having a big river rock fireplace, hunter green plaid rug on a hard wood floor, and a maroon leather chair. In my fantasy, I would puff on an aromatic pipe (I don’t smoke but the thoughts of a pipe conjure up sweet memories of my grandfather), read my Bible under a dim light, and stroke the fur of my big Irish Setter. One day I was describing this dream to a man and he perked up with a look of “hurry and finish your story, I have something to tell you.” When I was finished talking, he told me of a man he knew who had a young female Irish Setter pup and he wanted to give her a good home. So Burgundy landed on a ranch in Southern Colorado – the perfect environment for her long legged beauty, and antelope like speed. In the evenings, when the work was done, Margaret and I would sit on the porch of our house, which overlooked a 10,000 acre valley below. And Burgundy would run – she would run after rabbits, she would run after deer, and she would run after the elk herds which would from time to time try to take her on. It was incredible to watch her overtake a snowshoe rabbit in a few fluid strides. But there was one creature, although no match for her speed, which always won the races with her – the porcupine. When Burgundy encountered her first one, the results were disastrous. Being the conqueror of everything she took on, the “furry” little creature would be no match for her. So she bit it. Puppy tears and loud shrieks filled our Bronco as we traveled 40 miles to the nearest veterinarian’s. Burgundy had to be sedated to take out all the quills imbedded in her tongue and in the roof of her mouth. After about 30 minutes of surgery, I asked the vet if the trauma of the experience would prevent her from biting another one. The vet told us that she would either choose to fear the porcupines and give them wide berth, or she would hate them. Burgundy chose the latter. From then on, every few weeks, we found ourselves extracting quills from her nose. But one day, in her desire for conquest, Burgundy rolled on a dead carcass. No longer were the quills stuck in her nose. This time they were imbedded in her side. Again, I pulled quills, getting every one I could see. There was no change for a while. Hunting season was arriving. This time of year took me into the high country setting up camps and preparing for the onslaught of hunters. One evening, two days before the season began, I arrived back at the ranch, dirty and smelly from a few days living with the horses. After my shower, I heard a knock on my door. When I opened the door, there sat Burgundy. She had a wild look in her eyes, as foam drooled from her mouth. After being sure she was not rabid, I reached down and picked her up. There in my arms, she breathed her last breath. I took her into town to find out what could have possibly killed her. The vet did an autopsy and when he opened her up, he found her lungs were totally collapsed. You guessed it, they were full of porcupine quills. The dying blow came from one through the heart. You see, a porcupine quill is designed to travel inward. Once it penetrates its victim, the mechanism which keeps the quill firmly attached in the victim, is the same mechanism that causes it to continue to travel inward. Every quill I had missed when Burgundy had rolled on that porcupine, had made its destructive way into the entrails of my beautiful dog. We are all like Burgundy. And unforgiveness is like a porcupine quill. It firmly attaches itself to the person and travels inward until it kills. When we are harmed by another person, we have a choice. We can either forgive that person, or we can choose to hate them. And the spiritual result of that choice is the same as my dog’s physical choice. The choice is a matter of life and death.