I am a softie. I admit it. I get emotional and I cry. I know that some in society say that real men don't cry but I am sorry to upset the apple cart and admit that when I am emotionally moved I can cry. Some things affect me more than others. A few weeks ago I held back tears as I watched two men ordained priests for our diocese. It was a great day of celebration and one that was filled with much joy and yet the emotional high of the day led to tears. Maybe it was because I was reminded in the liturgy of my own commitment 17 years ago when I laid before the sanctuary and gave my whole being for service for the Church. I can cry when I watch "feel good" shows and anytime that any program deals with helping kids, well, then I just melt.

However, nowhere in my life am I more of a softie than when it comes to my puppy dog. She is now almost 5 years old but she is still my puppy and my little girl. Even though she does not listen at times, she sometimes does her duty where she is not supposed to, she jumps up on people who are not as open to such behaviour as I am and she hates having a bath, that 35 pound animal has completely captured my heart.

Last week my little girl fell sick. At first I thought it was just that her schedule was thrown out of whack by all of the parish activities or maybe it was because Deacon Bob and Joan were moving into the rectory and she was out of sorts. After a couple of days it was clear that she was really sick. She was not eating and she was taking little water. She was "discharging" from both ends and I found that the biggest liar in the world is Bounty paper towels - they may be the bigger picker upper but they are no match for what the dog was producing. An initial trip to the vet did not solve anything and only a subsequent trip and an injection of medication brought about any change.

I was a total wreck. The worst part in life is being in a situation where I cannot do anything to help a situation. And, it is even harder when it is your dog that you cannot do anything for. Such emotional situation are not ones that you can share because, of course, to the world it is "just a dog." But people forget that it is not "just a dog", rather she is "my dog."

Thankfully after a few days she started feeling better and now is back to her old self again. I was beginning to think I had over-reacted. Then last Sunday our esteemed Vicar General, Fr. Beechinor, came up and shared his own emotional set back. His Shih-tzu Sean had been injured by another dog and he was devastated. When I called the following day to check in and see how things were, the good priest said "the dog is dealing with this better than I am." I completely understood. Both of us might appear solid and tough but on the inside we are just softies and both of our soft undoings were accomplished by a dog.

And then it struck me. Maybe there is a a good reason why priests are celibate. If both of us were emotionally wrecked by an illness and injury of a dog just imagine how wrecked we would be if we had children?