It was not the howling of “Hey, there’s a UPS truck out front; I need to check it out!” but rather the howling of, “Someone is torturing me, help!” My daughter and I looked up from our respective books and saw nothing alarming. No torturing cat, no tail caught in the recliner, no spilled hot coffee.  It only lasted a few minutes, and then the night proceeded in peace, the incident forgotten.

The next day, however, it happened again. This time was worse, not only in noise but in duration. Buddy howled and whined and looked at me with wide eyes begging for help. Once again, searching even in doctor mode, I couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary. I checked his paws for thorns, his body for tender spots, his ears for mites. Nothing.

“Buddy, I wish you could talk,” I told him.

Over the next few days, more episodes occurred. Finally, at 8:00 PM on Friday, came the worst one yet.

Buddy hopped up from his dog bed like it was on fire. He whined and yelped, pacing in circles, panting desperately. I reached out to give him a consoling pat, and he squealed as if I had hit him. This episode went on the longest, too. It felt like hours, though I’m sure it was only twenty minutes. I felt so helpless!

It reminded me of the viral illnesses my children had, when even as a doctor, all I could do was wait for the sickness to run its course.  Or when Neil was dying, and all I could do was sit with him.  Or when my patients need to change their self-harming ways, and I am powerless to convince them.

Don’t you hate feeling helpless?

There is a way to deal with it, though: accept it.

I can accept that I am not in control, but God is. I can be confident he is kind and merciful. I can believe that even when things don’t go the way I want them to, they can still be the way God wants them to. What comfort that brings!

Buddy is doing better on medication for a pinched nerve, and his symptoms should gradually resolve. Hopefully, my reminder that God has things under control even when I don’t, will stick around.