Just before moving to Virginia, I went into The Village Barber Shop in Clermont for one final haircut. The proprietor, Mike, had been my barber for the past eleven years.
Visiting Mike has always been an experience. In his old-fashioned, downtown storefront establishment, he has employees that work the chairs up front, handling all of the walk-in traffic. You can only see Mike himself by appointment. He remains secluded in a private section in the back, with a single barber chair, historic photos of Clermont on the wall, Fox News on the television, and old Ellie the dog lying just beneath the chair at the customer’s feet. Having Mike cut your hair in the backroom is like flying first class, while the people in the front room are flying coach. Mike, close to my age, has been barbering a long time. A friendly guy, he’s knowledgeable about a wide range of subjects and one of the most informed people in the city. One can always get the latest local news from him, as he regularly trims the hair on a lot of prominent and powerful heads. Mike is always in the know. It kind of reminds me of an old line from “The Andy Griffith Show” about Floyd the barber, of whom it was said, “In Mayberry, there are three forms of communication—telephone, telegraph, and tell Floyd.”
His dog Ellie, in stark contrast to the high-level summits constantly taking place around her, maintains the stoic silence of a monk and the low profile of a covert CIA operative. With endless human conversation hovering above her head, she slumbers disinterestedly on the floor until there is finally an exchange of bodies in the barber chair above. As each customer stands up at the end of his haircut, that’s Ellie’s cue to lazily rise up and receive a dog biscuit from Mike. Somehow, it’s her reward, just for being there and enduring it all, day in and day out. Bear in mind that this 15-year old hound dog has ridden to work with Mike five days a week for her whole life. She’s more at home at the barber shop than anywhere else; more of a fixture there than the old revolving red, white & blue barber pole just outside the front door.
At the end of my last haircut, it suddenly dawned on me that something was amiss. I had been so engrossed in discussing world affairs with Mike that I had failed to recognize the unusual absence of his longstanding silent partner. “Where’s Ellie?” I asked. Mike then sadly informed me that since my previous haircut, the aging Ellie had passed away. I was stunned. It was the end of an era, I thought, strangely coinciding with my own departure from Clermont.
The sudden revelation of Ellie’s death instantly transported me back to Havana, Cuba, where only a few weeks before I had learned of the demise of another dog diva. Diana (named for Britain’s Princess Di) lived on the flat roof of a home adjacent to where our mission team ate our meals and led in worship services. Every time I saw this Cuban canine, she was always on that roof, standing guard over her vast domain, ready to defend her home at a moment’s notice. By the way that she carried herself, I feel confident that Diana was neither a Communist nor a “Fidelista”. After all, she always loved it when our mission teams came from America for a visit. It was a veritable Thanksgiving feast for her to be able to dine on our leftovers. For two straight years, our teams were accustomed to seeing the familiar image of Diana daily pacing along the rooftop above us. It always brought us a level of comfort. “Perro de techo”, I called her. (Spanish for “roof dog”.) Sadly, this time, Diana was gone, her untimely departure from this life roughly coinciding with the recent illness and hospitalization of Fidel Castro, her country’s dogmatic leader. (Pun intended.) A coincidence, you think? I’m not so sure. Anyway, it was sad to look up and see Diana’s old spot on that roof vacant.
As my mind drifted back again from Cuba to Clermont, I wondered, “What do you do when your barber’s dog dies?” I mean, does Hallmark have a card for such an occasion? Are flowers appropriate? How about, in lieu of flowers, donations to the local animal shelter or the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals? I must admit, I am not up on dog death etiquette.
But somehow Ellie’s death (along with that of the Diana) reminded me of something much more important. Life is full of beginnings and endings—not only for dogs, but for all of us. As a matter of fact, nothing in this life is permanent except for the Word of God, the souls of men, and the spiritual treasures we lay up in Heaven.
Does your life reflect those heavenly priorities? Are you investing yourself where it really counts and where the results are eternal?
Elvis Presley long ago immortalized the phrase, “You ain’t a nothing but a hound dog.” But I hope you realize that your life is much more than a dog’s life. Don’t miss out on what God has in store for you by letting your life go to the dogs. Find your place in this world—like Ellie’s spot under the chair or Diana’s perch up on the roof—and determine to make a difference where you are. Life is too short to do otherwise…even if you count it in dog years.
Pastor Danny
Visiting Mike has always been an experience. In his old-fashioned, downtown storefront establishment, he has employees that work the chairs up front, handling all of the walk-in traffic. You can only see Mike himself by appointment. He remains secluded in a private section in the back, with a single barber chair, historic photos of Clermont on the wall, Fox News on the television, and old Ellie the dog lying just beneath the chair at the customer’s feet. Having Mike cut your hair in the backroom is like flying first class, while the people in the front room are flying coach. Mike, close to my age, has been barbering a long time. A friendly guy, he’s knowledgeable about a wide range of subjects and one of the most informed people in the city. One can always get the latest local news from him, as he regularly trims the hair on a lot of prominent and powerful heads. Mike is always in the know. It kind of reminds me of an old line from “The Andy Griffith Show” about Floyd the barber, of whom it was said, “In Mayberry, there are three forms of communication—telephone, telegraph, and tell Floyd.”
His dog Ellie, in stark contrast to the high-level summits constantly taking place around her, maintains the stoic silence of a monk and the low profile of a covert CIA operative. With endless human conversation hovering above her head, she slumbers disinterestedly on the floor until there is finally an exchange of bodies in the barber chair above. As each customer stands up at the end of his haircut, that’s Ellie’s cue to lazily rise up and receive a dog biscuit from Mike. Somehow, it’s her reward, just for being there and enduring it all, day in and day out. Bear in mind that this 15-year old hound dog has ridden to work with Mike five days a week for her whole life. She’s more at home at the barber shop than anywhere else; more of a fixture there than the old revolving red, white & blue barber pole just outside the front door.
At the end of my last haircut, it suddenly dawned on me that something was amiss. I had been so engrossed in discussing world affairs with Mike that I had failed to recognize the unusual absence of his longstanding silent partner. “Where’s Ellie?” I asked. Mike then sadly informed me that since my previous haircut, the aging Ellie had passed away. I was stunned. It was the end of an era, I thought, strangely coinciding with my own departure from Clermont.
The sudden revelation of Ellie’s death instantly transported me back to Havana, Cuba, where only a few weeks before I had learned of the demise of another dog diva. Diana (named for Britain’s Princess Di) lived on the flat roof of a home adjacent to where our mission team ate our meals and led in worship services. Every time I saw this Cuban canine, she was always on that roof, standing guard over her vast domain, ready to defend her home at a moment’s notice. By the way that she carried herself, I feel confident that Diana was neither a Communist nor a “Fidelista”. After all, she always loved it when our mission teams came from America for a visit. It was a veritable Thanksgiving feast for her to be able to dine on our leftovers. For two straight years, our teams were accustomed to seeing the familiar image of Diana daily pacing along the rooftop above us. It always brought us a level of comfort. “Perro de techo”, I called her. (Spanish for “roof dog”.) Sadly, this time, Diana was gone, her untimely departure from this life roughly coinciding with the recent illness and hospitalization of Fidel Castro, her country’s dogmatic leader. (Pun intended.) A coincidence, you think? I’m not so sure. Anyway, it was sad to look up and see Diana’s old spot on that roof vacant.
As my mind drifted back again from Cuba to Clermont, I wondered, “What do you do when your barber’s dog dies?” I mean, does Hallmark have a card for such an occasion? Are flowers appropriate? How about, in lieu of flowers, donations to the local animal shelter or the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals? I must admit, I am not up on dog death etiquette.
But somehow Ellie’s death (along with that of the Diana) reminded me of something much more important. Life is full of beginnings and endings—not only for dogs, but for all of us. As a matter of fact, nothing in this life is permanent except for the Word of God, the souls of men, and the spiritual treasures we lay up in Heaven.
Does your life reflect those heavenly priorities? Are you investing yourself where it really counts and where the results are eternal?
Elvis Presley long ago immortalized the phrase, “You ain’t a nothing but a hound dog.” But I hope you realize that your life is much more than a dog’s life. Don’t miss out on what God has in store for you by letting your life go to the dogs. Find your place in this world—like Ellie’s spot under the chair or Diana’s perch up on the roof—and determine to make a difference where you are. Life is too short to do otherwise…even if you count it in dog years.
Pastor Danny
