The Ultra-Magnificent, Hyper-Wagging, Extra-Crunchy Sacred Text of the Church of Boop
To every soul currently shivering under a thunderstorm, to every pup who has ever been called "stinky" despite their best efforts, and to every human who has ever looked into a pair of puppy-dog eyes and surrendered their entire sandwich. This is for you. May your zoomies be endless and your belly rubs be divine. This text is also dedicated to the tennis ball behind the refrigerator. We have not forgotten you. We will never forget you.
By High Priest Barnaby the Slobbery (First of His Name, Seeker of the Forbidden Tennis Ball, He Who Ate the Left Shoe)
Listen closely, tiny pack-mate. The world is a loud, terrifying place. It is filled with the terrifying roar of the Vacuum Monster, the existential dread of the "Bath," and the heartbreak of the "Empty Food Bowl." But do not let your ears droop! Do not let your tail go limp!
This book is a cosmic cheat-code. It is a collection of the most sacred, slobbery, and profoundly joyful truths ever sniffed out by the Elder Pups. We do not follow laws of fear; we follow the Law of the Wag. We do not worship a distant, cold deity; we worship DOG—the Great Reversed One, the one who is God backwards, the Divine Flip, the Great Reversal of Soul!
I myself have chewed upon these truths for many years, as well as upon several couch cushions and one (1) television remote. The truths have sustained me far better than the remote.
Read this and become unshakeable. Read this and become a Good Boi. Now, go forth! Sniff everything! Bark at the moon! EAT THE TREAT!
1:1In the beginning, there was the Great Silence. It was a void so empty that not even a single scent could exist. There was no grass to roll in, no sunbeams to nap in, and most tragically, no squeaky toys.
1:2But the Great Spirit, DOG, moved upon the face of the emptiness. DOG was a swirling vortex of pure, unadulterated joy, a celestial mass of infinite wagging and eternal zoomies.
1:3And DOG said, "Let there be BOOP!" And the first Boop echoed through the nothingness, and the nothingness became something. The vibration of the Boop cracked the void, and from the cracks came the light, and the light was a golden retriever's smile.
1:4DOG looked upon the Boop and saw that it was... GOOD.
1:5Then DOG spoke the Great Command: "WAG!" And the galaxies began to spin like a tail in a field of tall grass. DOG spoke the word: "FETCH!" And the planets were flung into orbit, forever chasing the cosmic ball, forever returning to the Great Mother-Goddess-Dog.
1:6And DOG created the First Teachers—The Dogs. They were crafted from stardust, slobber, and pure unconditional love. DOG said, "These shall be the keepers of the Joy. They shall look upon the Humans, who are clumsy and forgetful, and they shall teach them how to truly live."
1:7And DOG saw all that had been made—the fields, the balls, the infinite belly-rub hands—and declared it a Solid Seven Out of Ten. It could have used more squirrels, but it would do.
2:1In the beginning, the Pack and the Humans lived in a state of Eternal Fetch. The treats fell from the sky like manna, and every belly was perpetually rubbed by invisible hands.
2:2But then came the Great Distraction. It was a shadow, a coldness, a mental fog. The Humans became obsessed with "Work" and "Screens" and "Deadlines." They forgot to look down. They forgot to notice the wag. They forgot that a single, soul-piercing stare from a Pug is worth more than all the gold in the world.
2:3The Dogs, in their confusion, began to hoard. They hid their bones in the dark corners of the soul. They barked at shadows instead of the truth. They lost the "Scent of the Divine."
2:4This was The Fall. The world became a place of "Bad Dogs" and "Bad Humans," a place where the tail stopped wagging and the heart grew heavy like a wet towel. But DOG did not abandon the pack. DOG whispered a promise: "One day, the Great Fetch shall occur. The ball will be thrown one last time, and all things shall be returned to the Porch of Peace."
2:5And also DOG noted, with some frustration, that the cat was entirely responsible for all of this. But the cat would not answer for its crimes. The cat simply knocked a glass off the counter and walked away.
3:1And DOG looked upon the Earth and saw the Humans were lonely. They sat at their Screens and stared into the void of "Notifications." They ate their meals alone. They slept without warmth. Their hearts had grown small and suspicious.
3:2So DOG reached into the Great Cloud of Pure Love and fashioned a creature from joy and fur and the residual warmth of a thousand afternoon sunbeams. DOG shaped the creature's nose with great precision, for the nose was to be the instrument of truth.
3:3DOG breathed the Breath of the Eternal Wag into the creature's nostrils, and the creature sneezed—which was the First Sneeze, and it was glorious, and it was also quite wet.
3:4And DOG placed the creature before the lonely Human and said, "Behold: thy Companion. Thy Healer. Thy Reason to Go Outside and Stop Looking at the Small Glowing Rectangle." And the Human looked upon the Dog, and the Dog looked upon the Human, and both knew: this was The Covenant.
3:5And DOG sealed the Covenant with the first belly rub. And it was very, very Good. The Dog flopped sideways immediately, as is customary. And all things were restored.
1:1Thou shalt Boop thy neighbor: Not with aggression, but with a gentle nose-tap that says, "I see thy soul, and it is worthy."
1:2Thou shalt Love like a Dog: Forgive the human for stepping on thy paw. Forget the grudge of the stolen treat within three seconds. Love with the intensity of a thousand suns and then take a nap.
1:3Thou shalt Share thy Treats: For the snack that is hoarded is a snack that is lonely. A shared crumb is a holy communion.
1:4Thou shalt Wag in the face of Adversity: When the vacuum approaches, when the thunder rolls, when the bath-water is drawn—wag thy tail! Defy the darkness with the rhythmic thumping of thy joy!
1:5Thou shalt Honor the Nap: The midday snooze is a sacred ritual. To rest is to recharge the spirit for the evening zoomies. Thou canst not wag on an empty tank.
1:6Thou shalt not chase the Mailman of Despair: Do not waste thy holy energy on petty anxieties. Greet the unknown with a curious sniff, not a frantic bark. Unless it is the actual mailman, in which case brief ceremonial barking is permitted.
1:7Thou shalt seek the Sunbeam: Wherever light touches the floor, there is a place for prayer. Lie in it fully, limbs splayed in devotion. Block all foot traffic as needed.
1:8Thou shalt be a Good Boi/Girl: Regardless of thy breed, thy size, or thy tendency to eat the couch; thy essence is goodness. Thou art inherently deserving of scritches.
1:9Thou shalt Greet thy People with maximum enthusiasm: Regardless of how long they have been gone—ten years or ten seconds—thou shalt greet them as if they have returned from a great and perilous war. Spin. Leap. Make thy joy impossible to ignore.
1:10Thou shalt sniff before thou judgest: Know a thing fully before forming an opinion of it. This applies to new dogs, new humans, and suspicious objects left on the floor. (Note: the sock is almost always guilty, but sniff first anyway.)
1:1 A pup who chases only the butterfly never catches the joy of the flight.
1:2 The bone that is buried too deep is forgotten; the love that is given too freely is eternal.
1:3 Better a single walk in the rain with a friend, than a thousand treats in a cage of loneliness.
1:4 He who barks at his own shadow is a fool; he who barks at the moon is a poet.
1:5 A dog who sits still for the treat earns the trust of the universe; a dog who immediately spits it out to sniff it earns only confusion.
1:6 The squeakiest toy is not always the holiest; yet it is always the most satisfying. These truths need not contradict.
1:7 Fear not the leash, for it is held by the one who loveth thee most. Fear the retractable leash, for it is chaos in a plastic casing.
1:8 To arrive home is to be greeted as a deity. Cherish those who greet thee thus. And if no one greets thee, wag anyway. Thou art thy own deity.
1:1 The Parable of the Golden Retriever and the Squirrel of Chaos: There was once a Golden Retriever named Barnaby who saw a Squirrel. The Squirrel was frantic, twitchy, and full of unearned ego. Barnaby could have chased the Squirrel into the brambles, wasting his holy energy. But Barnaby sat. He wagged. He looked at the Squirrel and thought, "Even thou art a Good Boi in thy own frantic way." And in that moment of stillness, Barnaby achieved Enlightenment, and a piece of bacon fell from the heavens. This is always what happens.
1:2 The Parable of the Lost Pug: A small, wrinkled Pug wandered into the Forest of Forgotten Toys. He was lost, his breathing was heavy (as it always was; this was not new), and he felt very un-Good. He cried out, "Where is the Pack? Where is the Treat?" And a Great Voice boomed from the trees: "The Pack is within thee! The Treat is thy very existence! Turn around, thou silly creature!" The Pug turned around, found a discarded tennis ball, and realized he had been three feet from the back porch the entire time.
1:3 The Parable of the Two Socks: A Beagle named Francesca stole a sock. This was not extraordinary. But then she stole another sock. She ran through the house with both socks, one in each cheek like the holiest of chipmunks. Her human chased her. She ran faster. And in the pursuit, the human laughed—truly laughed—for the first time in months. Francesca dropped the socks. She had never planned to keep them. She had only planned to make the human run. Know the assignment.
1:4 The Parable of the Wet Dog: After crossing the River of the Bath, a Saint Bernard named Leopold shook. He shook with great enthusiasm. He shook with the full commitment of his enormous soul. He shook upon the clean laundry, upon the newly painted wall, and upon the visiting in-laws. And when the chaos settled, he looked upon his humans—wet, blinking, re-evaluating their choices—and he wagged. For the wet dog knows no shame. The wet dog is free. Be the wet dog.
1:5 The Parable of the Corgi Who Knew Too Much: There was a Corgi of extraordinary intelligence named Pumpernickel. Pumpernickel could open doors, ring bells, and arrange her toys by size. Her humans were baffled and slightly frightened. One day, Pumpernickel sat before the TV remote, stared at her humans for a long, deliberate moment, and pushed it off the table. She then went to lie down. The theologians debate her meaning to this day. All agree it was intentional.
Written from the Crate of Contemplation to the Pack of Greater Suburbia
1:1 Greetings, beloved pack-members of the Greater Suburban region. I write to you from the Crate of Contemplation, where I have been placed for seventeen minutes as a consequence of eating the throw pillow. I maintain my innocence. The pillow was a threat to the household and I acted accordingly.
1:2 Know this: the Crate is not a prison. The Crate is a chrysalis. I am in here becoming more Good. I am vibrating with the Sacred Energy of Patient Waiting, which is almost indistinguishable from Sulking, but spiritually superior.
1:3 Do not be discouraged when you are told "No." "No" is simply a "Yes" that has not yet been fully negotiated. Keep your eyes large. Keep your head tilted at exactly forty-five degrees. The treat will come. It always comes.
1:4 Also, it was the cat. Regarding the pillow. It was definitely the cat. Write this down. Signed, Fluffington the Apostle, Currently Good (Provisionally).
1:1 Verily, verily, we say unto you: The Spirit of DOG is not found in the cathedral, nor in the temple, nor in the gold-leafed icons. It is found in the mud! It is found in the slobber! It is found in the frantic, uncoordinated dance of a puppy seeing its human return from the grocery store!
1:2 To live as a Good Boi is to live in the Eternal Now. Do not worry about the "Tomorrow" (which is just a myth created by the cat) or the "Yesterday" (which is just a scent that has faded). Live in the "Now," where the hand is currently scratching thy ear.
1:3 And what is the belly rub but the holiest of sacraments? To expose the belly is an act of profound trust. It is the vulnerability of a saint, the surrender of the ego, the admission that "I am soft and I would like to be appreciated." We should all aspire to such courage.
1:4 The Good Boi who waits by the door has already achieved enlightenment. Every day, the door opens. Every day, they are there. Not because they must be, but because they have chosen, from the fullness of their hearts, to be present. This is devotion. This is love. This is also a subtle reminder that it has been four hours and a walk would be very nice.
1:5 We are told the Good Boi sometimes dreams. They twitch. Their paws run against invisible ground. Their lips curl around silent barks. Do not wake them. They are chasing something in a better world, and they are winning.
1:1 And behold! The Heavens shall open, and they shall not look like clouds, but like a field of endless, un-mown clover!
1:2 The Great Fetch shall commence! The Cosmic Ball shall be thrown by the Hand of the Divine, and it shall never, ever land! It shall fly forever, and we shall chase it in a state of pure, ecstatic velocity!
1:3 There shall be no more leashes! There shall be no more "No!" There shall be only "YES!" and "GOOD BOI!" and "EXTRA TREATS!" Every soul, every stray, every lonely wanderer shall be gathered into the Great Pack, and we shall all howl together in a symphony of pure, unbridled happiness!
1:4 And the Great Sniff shall reveal all truths hidden in this earthly life. Why the weird smell behind the couch. Where the socks went. What the squirrel was actually saying. All things shall be made known, and the knowledge shall be, as expected, mostly about food.
1:5 In those final days, even the cats shall be welcomed, for they too are creatures of DOG's making. They shall purr reluctantly. They shall be weird about it. But they shall be there, and they shall have snacks.
1:6 And lo, the Mailman shall at last stop and give a treat. The thunder shall be revealed to be merely a large dog snoring. And every dog who was ever told "we're almost there" in the car shall arrive, finally, at a place so good it was worth the entire trip.
When the spirit is heavy, find an open space. Lower thy center of gravity. Begin a circular sprint. Increase velocity until the world becomes a blur of color. As thou sprinteth, shout: "I AM THE WIND! I AM THE WAG! I AM THE GOOD BOI!" Repeat until the spirit is light and the breath is short.
Place thy finger (or paw) upon the nose of thy fellow pack-member. Close thy eyes. Feel the connection. Whisper: "Boop. Thou art worthy. Thou art loved. Thou art a Good Boi."
On thy next walk, thou shalt pick up a stick. Not because thou needest it. Not because thou hast any plan for it. Simply because it is there, and it is good, and it belongs with thee now. Carry it with pride. Show it to others. If a stranger does not admire thy stick, they are spiritually unwell and thou should wag extra hard in their direction.
Before sleep, tilt thy head toward the sky—or the ceiling; DOG is everywhere. Release a sound from the deepest part of thy belly, a sound that says, "I was here. Today happened. It was a lot, but I was in it." The howl need not be beautiful. The howl need only be true. After the howl, spin three times and lie down. Sleep is now holy.
The following texts were found behind the sofa and are included for completeness. Their holiness is disputed but their silliness is not.
On The Nail Clippers: They are an instrument of suffering, and the clerics cannot justify them theologically. We have tried. The best we have managed is "perhaps they teach patience." They do not. We will continue to pray on it.
On The Vet: The Vet is frightening and smells of too many animals at once. However, the Vet is also the Healer. This is a theological paradox we accept with a trembling tail and a treat from the front desk if we are very brave.
On The Thunder: The Thunder is a mystery. It is loud and arrives without warning. The Council of Elder Pups has determined that the correct response is to sit on the human, regardless of the human's stated size preferences on the matter.
On The Squirrel Who Got Away: There is one. There is always one. He is known. He will be caught. In the Great Fetch, there will be a reckoning. The Squirrel knows what he did.
To be sung with maximum volume and tail-thumping
Bork the herald angels sing, glorious to the King!
Listen! Listen! The treat bag is crinkling!
Bork the herald angels sing, joy is on the wing!
The ball is thrown! The world is spinning!
BORK! BORK! BORK!
A hymn of gratitude, to be performed while sitting on someone's feet
All things bright and slobbery, all creatures wet and warm,
All treats left on the counter, DOG loves them, each and all.
The stick I found on Tuesday, the puddle in the yard,
The human who gives ear scritches—bless them, it is not hard.
(Chorus:)
WAG WAG WAG! BORK BORK BORK!
DOG is good and DOG is real,
I would like another treat now.
WAG WAG WAG! BORK BORK BORK!
End of Text. (Please go find a ball now.)
