Dog Outreach

Ginny, the dog, is the best tool in my outreach toolkit.

She’s not my dog. She belongs to my nephew and his wife, but I get to walk her from time to time.

Ginny is my icebreaker. It’s wonderful how many people who wouldn’t even make eye contact with me will stop to greet her. Expressionless faces break into smiles when they see her. And she will happily adore anyone who adores her. People rarely ask what my name is but almost always ask hers.

I remember a time I was walking along the St. Clair River with her. Ahead of us was an older man, probably homeless, hunched over and looking down at the sidewalk as he shuffled along in his broken-down shoes. As we overtook him I shortened Ginny’s leash and pulled her aside to pass. But Ginny would have none of it. Straining against her leash, she went right up to him and put her nose in his hand. He stopped, and for the next minute or two they exchanged love and adoration. Finally he turned his head slightly, peered up at me, and said, “Can I borrow her for a few days? I’m so lonely.”

Caught completely unprepared, I stammered an inane reply to his question while ignoring his need and quickly moved on.

Then there was Easter Tuesday. The weather was glorious, there were signs of spring everywhere—a perfect day for a walk in the nearby cemetery. As we cut through a municipal parking lot we met a parking authority employee, broom and dustbin in hand, sweeping up the trash from the asphalt. As usual, Ginny headed straight for him. I thought he was a bit apprehensive at her approach, but when he tentatively put out a gloved hand, I let her come close. He smiled as he greeted her, then looked at me and asked in heavily accented English, “Who create dis dok?”

I smiled back and replied, “God did!”

His smile increased, ear to ear, and he said, “Jesus is coming!”

“Amen!” I replied. “He is risen and he is coming indeed!” And we talked a bit. Rarely do people stop to speak to him. I probably wouldn’t have either, if it weren’t for Ginny. He is responsible for cleaning up 44 of Toronto’s municipal parking lots. It’s an endless job, between the garbage dropped by careless passers-by and blown in by wind gusts. I thanked him for his good work, and we moved on.

Ginny has taught me a lot. She makes no distinctions between class, gender, ethnicity, or religion. She treats everyone like friends. I’m learning to look strangers in the eye and greet them, stopping if they show any inclination to talk.

Did I say Ginny is the best tool in my outreach kit? Not true.

Ginny is the best teacher I know.