Our backyard is a quarter-acre universe. It is a place where dramas of life are played out daily. The flora and fauna are endlessly fascinating. From our glass-enclosed sunroom and from our outdoor deck, Judy and I observe the ebb and flow of life in that universe. Some plants flourish and others struggle and fail. My little fig tree was barren of fruit a couple of years ago; so I cursed it after the fashion of Jesus. Roses have a hard time there. Little cherry tomatoes love it there. They are Edenic in their profusion. Hostas thrive in wide variety there. Animals scamper about in profusion. Squirrels, chipmunks, voles and birds of all sorts are abundant. And our outdoor cat, Liberty, and dog, Little Bit are out there too. We human types are welcome there, but we are like aliens from some other universe. It is a domain that truly belongs to them. This past weekend was a poignant time for us as we witnessed a grand drama in this little world.

     On Saturday morning I stepped out to greet and feed Little Bit and Liberty. I came upon a major crisis. Little Bit was in obvious distress. He was standing in the middle of the yard, struggling to stand up but also unable to lie down. He was unable to walk. He could only wobble in place. It was shocking and painful to watch. He is almost deaf now, but as I came close enough for him to hear me, he could not respond to me. It being a weekend, the animal clinic was closed. So we administered as much comfort as we knew how to give. We gently caressed him. We offered soothing words. We tried food and water, but he could not accept it. We thought, perhaps, he had suffered a stroke. We thought, maybe, the inevitable had arrived. He is, after all, 16 years old. We have all heard, that one dog’s year is equivalent to seven years of human life. That makes him 112 years old. We kept vigil with him. I remembered how when I was near death for weeks four years ago, he stayed indoors and constantly alert at my bedside. I never looked down at him night or day and found him doing anything but looking up at me. After my crisis passed, he was eager to return to his outdoor haunts. I will always remain grateful for his vigilance and love for me.

     During the day we noticed remarkable behavior from Liberty the cat. She began to frequently brush against him. She stayed near him—something she would never have done voluntarily before. She meowed often. She was uncharacteristically fidgety and restless. This was strange behavior because Little Bit and Liberty have tormented each other all their lives. They are the same age and they have grown up together. He has chased her incessantly for years. He forced us to feed her atop a picnic table because he won’t let her eat in peace if he can reach her. They have had a sibling rivalry for 112 years! But now, she knows something is terribly wrong. As the day wore on, we noticed slow but definite improvement in his condition. After a few hours, he was able to move steadily. He could eat a few bites of food. The crisis seemed to have passed. And the next day he experienced some of the same symptoms but they were less severe and shorter in duration. We hope tomorrow will be a better day for him and for Liberty and for us too.

     Watching this and feeling the solemnity of it, I have not been able to shake from my mind, the words of the familiar children’s song written by Cecil F. Alexander in 1848: “All things bright and beautiful,/All creatures great and small,/All things wise and wonderful:/The Lord God made them all.” Those words seem so obviously true in our small, quarter-acre universe. A look out the window upon our larger universe makes it seem, sadly, less obviously so.

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