


Confession is good for the soul. I mistakenly wrote down the wrong time for my parish's animal blessing. But my pastor said he'd do a special blessing for Haze the Dog at a later date.
Because we're all searching to unite with the divine.



If you’ve ever seen dog owners walking to church with their pooches in ridiculous outfits, sprayed with doggie perfume and a bow in their fur you’ve stumbled upon the annual “blessing of the animals” on the Feast Day of St Francis, October 4. In years past I witnessed one woman’s dog in a top hat and tails. Another dressed in a doggy business suit. A third looked like a clown (both dog and master).
I couldn’t help but laugh to myself when I overheard conversations in the pews about how smart their silly mutt was and how much love they received coming home to the wagging tail that greeted them at the door. Owners shared recipes about what they cook for their pets, talked about what they’ll dress them up for on Halloween and even celebrated their animal friends’ birthdays complete with party hats and a big bash.
Reveling in all of this canine eccentricity seemed odd to me until I visited a Franciscan friend of mine in upstate New York the day before last year’s blessing of the animals.
“Mike, just wait until tomorrow. You’ll see sheep, and cats, and snakes, and ferrets besides the dozens of dogs that will make their way here. I swear the second coming of Christ could be happening and if someone else did a prayer service across the street with animals, more people would show up for that!”
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy;
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
In this week's Nature, the scientist Dario Ringach tells the disturbing story of how, because he did research on primates, he was targeted for violent treatment by so-called ‘animal rights extremists’; how after the fire-bomb incident (the bomb was accidentally left on the wrong scientist’s doorstep), for fear of his and his family’s safety, he discontinued his animal research; how he is speaking up now, three years later, because “we’re getting awfully close to the situation where somebody may be killed. There is a general trend toward polarization in our society.”
There is a lot going on here. For now (not because they’re not important), let’s set aside (1) the obvious irony of killing one kind of primate (a person) because you’re upset he’s studying another kind and (2) the glaring analogies to some of the more radical abortion rights foes. Instead, let’s talk about animal research, ethics, and religion.
We Western humans of the Judeo-Christian tradition have come a long way in our understanding and engagement with non-human animals. Crudely put, we realize now that animals are not put here for us to use as we please. And, due in many ways to animal rights activists, research on animals is now done exponentially more carefully than at any point in the history of such work.
When I teach research ethics to the future scientists of the world—graduate students and post-doctoral fellows—we spend a lot of time talking about this. Not just the important party line of the special offices at research facilities devoted to animal care: “refine, reduce, and reuse.” But also about deeper questions: should we do research with animals at all? With certain animals and not others (much of basic research is done on yeast, worms, fruit flies, and mice)? And what kinds of research (research that might cause pain or even death, observational research, etc.)?

“Hey, lady-with-the-dog, what’s your dog’s name again? Lily?” asks one resident. “My great-niece is Penny — do you know her? She says she knows you because she sees you and Lily in church. I said she was mistaken; who would take a dog to church? Do you know Penny?”
“I do know Penny. Small world, isn’t it?”
“Now, why would Penny see your dog at church?”
I explain how Lily enjoys going to Mass with me.
“Well, that’s a new one on me,” she exclaims. “Penny’s Catholic, you know. I’m an Independent Baptist, and we don’t do that sort of thing.” I explain the details, and with that, Penny’s great aunt Della is off and running down the hall with the story.
“Maudie Lane, come here. I’m going to tell you such a story; you won’t believe this. You know that dog that visits us? Lily is her name. She goes to church in the Catholic church. Well, that’s not something we’d do, but that dog goes to church every single day. Can you believe that? She got trained there, the lady said.”
Maudie retells this story to the nurse’s aide: “Yes, that’s right. That dog goes to church every single day at the Catholic Cathedral. Why, she was even born at the church. Yes, as just a little puppy they say, isn’t that something? I guess she must live there.”

Clad in flowing golden robes, Deacon Charles McNeil read from Genesis and then sprinkled holy water on the drooling, panting worshipers. Some barked. Others sniffed their fellow supplicants. A German shepherd shook his head, spraying his neighbors with holy water.
The event, in its 15th or so year, was a highlight of the North Beach Festival, which continues today. In addition to bringing pets to church, festivalgoers could watch artists draw chalk masterpieces on Vallejo Street, eat Italian sausages, and drink beer at Washington Square.
Another dog in need of spiritual serenity Saturday was Alex, a rambunctious pit bull mix who was recently neutered.
"He wasn't too happy about it. His voice changed," said his owner, Fernando Arocha of San Francisco. "Is he Catholic? He will be after today."
After blessing the dogs and cats, McNeil said a prayer for those that had ascended to pet heaven in the past year. The prayer reminded him of his beloved childhood Chihuahua mix, Corky.
"Corky loved carrots, and he loved people," McNeil said after the ceremony ended. "He'd sneak out every day and go to the McDonald's on Ocean Avenue. He was the smartest dog I ever knew."
McNeil said the annual pet blessing is a chance for pet owners to take the love they feel toward Rover and Snowball and extend it toward humanity at large. People should feel as much compassion for homeless people in the Tenderloin as they feel for homeless puppies at the SPCA, he said.
"People always think of St. Francis preaching to the birds," he said. "But he didn't just have a love of animals. It went beyond that. My hope is that somehow the people here today carry that same sense of respect out into the world."