There must be half a dozen books or more with titles like DOG is GOD Spelled Backwards or GOD is DOG spelled Backwards. The internet is full of blogs that wax on about the miracle of dog and man relationships.

Some dog lovers look at their canine companions as the purest example of unconditional love. Some dog owners may consider their continual dialog as being akin to prayer. Releasing their fear of judgment, people often unburden their souls to their furry friends as they would never think of doing with even the closest people in their lives. Some dog fanatics think of their pets as angels, literally. They think that dogs are beings that are on earth to teach human beings how to live.

I don’t know about being halo-less, cold-nosed and panting angels, but I have no doubt that the beagles and corgies and labs of the world are taking many of us to school – whether we recognize it or not.

In my neighborhood, 6:30 in the morning, then 6:30 and 10:30 at night are DWT. Dog Walking Time. Every breed and color of pooch seems to be out padding along the sidewalk, sniffing trees they marked during previous strolls. I like checking out the parade, seeing what kinds of people are attached to what shape and size and pedigree. Like observing an old married couple at a restaurant and forming opinions about how they relate to each other in other situations, watching dog and master, or human and master, connected by a fifteen foot long strap of leather, is a regular source of amusement for me.

And when I’m cruising down School Street or Roscoe or Melrose, seeing pets and their people out for their walks, that’s when I can see how things really are. Observing these interactions gives me a strong feeling about our relationship with God.

I will smile at what kinds of people choose what size and shape of pet. Princess types of women often choose princess breeds. Jocks often seem to go for strong, trainable types with easy-going personalities, and freelancers seem to like mid-sized pups with unusual lineages. They’ll let them scamper ahead, begging passersby to ask the question that might start a full-fledged conversation. “What kind of dog is that?”

My favorite dynamic to watch is the ultra pro and his pooch. Whether the typical Type A personality chooses to collar a dog with a similar temperament or whether he seeks to balance his own orientation for vigilance and control with a drooler, when you see someone who normally tries to manage everything and everyone in his environment getting dragged into a rock garden or over a sewer cover because their precious pup picked up the scent of a candy wrapper or discarded glove, I have to laugh.

Maybe they’re aware of this unexpected form of surrender and opportunity for humility. Maybe not. But walking your dog can be a great reminder of your relationship with God, your relationship with life. Just when you think you’re in control, you get the reminder that you’re not. Not really. And, for some reason, when you walk your dog, that reality seems more than okay.

When a person thinks he’s taking his dog for a walk so that he can relieve himself, he forgets that his dog is actually taking him for a walk. When a dog walks his human, he gives him a chance to drop all his preoccupations and be in the moment, to look at the stillness of the street and hear the sound of his breath and sink into rare moments of surrender. In these moments, while walking the dog, some people actually allow themselves to embrace not being in the lead.

When I see grad students, super moms, or CEOs of start-ups follow their long-haired or short-haired, black or tan, pure-bred or uber mutt at the end of a leash, then wait patiently for them to extrude a turd that they then wrap up neatly in a small baggy before heading off to Starbucks, I can’t help but smile.

Letting yourself take cues from the same creature you think you’re leading and enjoying being in service is no small thing.