Cathy and I used to have a little French poodle for a pet. I hated that dog. I mean I hated that dog! Even though it was a male, Cathy would put bows in his hair and paint his toenails. He was a weird dog, you understand? I hated that dog, because he was a sissy. Cathy loved that dog, and my daughter, Jodi, loved that dog, but I couldn't stand him.

The dog's name was Beau Jacque, because he had classy blood. His father's name was Beau Wattley, so he was from a good bloodline. All that meant to me was that we had to spend a fortune for him. Even though he was a toy, miniature, white poodle, he cost a lot of money. That only made me hate him more.

Beau Jacque was a heathen, too. He was a heathen dog! I mean, I caught him messing around with the neighbor's dog. And the neighbor would say, "Reverend, your dog's been messing around with my dog."

"He's not saved," I would explain. "I'm sorry. He's a hot little heathen."

I would have to call that dog over, and he'd just look at me. "You heathen!" I would yell at him. "You're going to hell! Messing around with all these dogs in the neighborhood...."

He would just look at me with guilt in his eyes. He'd be telling me, "I repent. I repent." But the temptation was greater than he could bear.

Cathy would wake me up first thing in the morning and say, "Go let Beau Jacque out." He had to go outside to do his business.

I hated letting that thing outside. I had to stand out there and watch him do his business, you understand. I'd say, "I don't want to go out there and watch that dog crunch up his back and all that kind of junk. I am an evangelist! I'm on television! People know me all over the country. And they're going to see me in the front yard with my dog's back all crunched up. That's embarrassing." "Listen," she told me, "we have to take him out every morning. You take him out."

I hated that dog, and I told him so. I'd say, "I hate you, you understand. I can't stand your guts."

This dog was so spoiled that if you gave him a piece of meat, he wouldn't even chew it himself. No, you had to cut it up in little pieces for him so he could eat it. That's the truth. If I gave him a little chunk of meat (it didn't have to be big - the dog was flat-out lazy), he'd just hold it in his mouth. I'd say, "Eat it, fool!" He'd just look at me. I knew what he was saying. His eyes were telling me, "Cathy cuts it up smaller for me."

I hated that stinking dog! I wanted a big dog like a Great Dane, a Doberman pinscher or a pit bull. I wanted one that goes, "Houf, houf, houf," you know - not one that goes, "Wrrrrrf, wrrrrrrf."

I was out in the yard one time letting Beau Jacque do his business, looking around to make sure no one saw me, because if they saw me they would say, "How you doing, Reverend? Oh, yeah, I see what you're doing there. You're watching your dog do his business, huh?"

"Hurry up, Beau Jacque!" I would yell. "Get behind the monkey grass, you understand? Man!" I hated that dog. The Lord knew it, and the dog knew it!

One time I took Beau Jacque out to do his business, and this guy came by walking a huge pit bull. Little Beau Jacque saw that pit bull, and the pit bull saw Beau Jacque. They started to get territorial. The pit bull stopped and put a paw on Beau Jacque's grass. Oh, that sent Beau Jacque standing straight up. That made him mad. Beau Jacque went, "Hrrrrrrrrrr."

I said, "Woaaaaaa."

"Hrrrrrrrrr," he cried.

"Get down with your bad self, Beau Jacque!" I said. "Oh, you've got some Duplantis blood in you, do ya? Then go over there and take care of that big boy. Bust him!"

Man, that pit bull got all four paws on Beau Jacque's grass, and when he did, Beau Jacque went, "Hrrrrrrrrr," and took off. Beau Jacque ran over and bit that dog's toe.

That dog was a great, big pit bull, and little Beau Jacque just bit him. Then Beau Jacque started trying to chew on his throat! You could see that pit bull just standing there with this tiny poodle trying to attach itself to its throat.

But the big dog didn't do anything to Beau Jacque, except go "Hrrrrrph!" And with that, Beau Jacque fell on his back, going, "Hahhhhhhhh, ahhhhhhhh, ahghhhhhh, aghhhhhhhh."

The man walking the pit bull said, "I think your dog's having a heart attack."

I said, "Get up, Beau Jacque. Get up!" And I was thinking, "Attack! Attack the dog!"

Beau Jacque was still going, "Ahhhhhhhh." I had to go pick Beau Jacque up, because he couldn't even walk. His little heart was pounding, and you could see fear in his eyes. He was telling me, "Oh, thank you. That big dog almost killed me, man." It was embarrassing!

I had to take Beau Jacque in to Cathy, who took one look at him and grabbed him up, saying, "Mamma loves you, Beau Jacque." She was kissing him, and you could just see Beau Jacque panting and saying, "I almost died. Almost died."

Beau Jacque recovered, but I still hated him. So one day the Lord said to me, "I want you to call that dog over to you."

"What?"

He said, "That dog knows you have animosity toward him. He's one of my creations, and I want you to call him over."

"I don't like that dog," I said.

"I don't care," God said. "I sent him to you. Your wife and your daughter love that dog. He's part of your family. Now you call that dog here." God spoke this to me, whether you believe it or not.

He told me to apologize to that dog.

I said, "God, I ain't going to apologize to no dog."

"You apologize to that dog." He insisted.

Well, I felt so stupid. But I called him over and said, "Beau Jacque, come here." He jumped up and looked at me with these crying eyes. I said, "Listen..." And I could see it in his eyes. He was saying, "Go ahead, humble yourself." He knew what I had to do, and he wasn't going to make it easy for me.

"Beau Jacque," I continued, "You know I hate your guts, but the Lord said for me to do this." Now, whether you believe it or not, this is the truth. God made me do this, because I was wrong to that dog. I was wrong to one of His creations. I had hated that dog.

"Beau Jacque, the Lord told me to apologize." And I could see these tears start coming out of his little eyes.

He made a face like, "I forgive you. I've always loved you, but you never loved me." And so he tried to lick me.

"Don't you put your tongue on me!" I yelled. "I don't want your tongue on me. Heel! Beau Jacque, heel!"

"But, look," I said, "I'm sorry. I've shown you great animosity. You know I just want you to be a big dog. I want you to be mean and tough, you understand?"

He understood everything I said. I know he did. That dog had a brain.

So I promised not to be so cruel to him anymore. I promised him I would never wake him up again in the middle of the night and show him a newspaper.

See, if God can't get your attention with higher life forms, He will use lower forms to get your attention. He will make you see where you are from His perspective. We're all part of God's creation. God created every living creature, and He expects us to respect them.

I had to humble myself and start respecting God's creation. My wife and daughter loved Beau Jacque, and I wasn't respecting that. But God got my attention, and I changed. God taught me a lesson through that dog.

Source: Jambalaya for the Soul by Jesse Duplantis
Excerpt permission granted by Harrison House Publishers