Eureka, Ca. - As a Lutheran minister of some thirty-three years, Owen Laythrom was well-versed in the art of fielding difficult questions of faith, and in mediating the various spiritual crises of his community. “I’ve heard just about everything”, says Laythrom, “from ‘why is there somethin’ rather than nothin’ in the universe’, to ‘does the appearance of an extra horn on my sheep mean he’s blessed by The Dark One’ to ‘is God a man or a woman?’” Laythrom additionally cites “counseling couples divided by infidelities” and successfully advising families “whose son or daughter might be addicted to them hip-hop singers or home-arcade contraptions” as among his more venerable accomplishments within the immediate community. He’d even once been asked to perform an exorcism, a request which he “thankfully declined; turns out it was just some kid stoned on LSD.”
But in the early months of the previous year, Laythrom asserts that he “began to discern something of an irregular metaphysical pattern” throughout the various inquiries ordinarily advanced by parishioners, perturbances he found himself alarmingly ill-equipped to answer with any confidence or coherency.
“People in our community are pretty attached to their pets, and so they began to ask, ‘will Mister Yippers make it into heaven?’ and so forth. I found myself at a complete loss. The scriptures have basically jack to say on the matter”. Laythrom added that these were “spiritually legitimate questions”, and that they began to inspire “religious rumblings within me, the likes of which I haven’t felt for some years”.
Moreover, the lifelong Lutheran began to wonder whether the soul of his own dog, Rusty, would be permitted entrance into the afterlife. “I just can’t imagine whiling away eternity without the company of my old buddy”, said Laythrom of his twelve-year old Golden Retriever. “But he ain’t always been the best dog, and from time to time has acted in a manner altogether unbefitting of the canine species, and one that’s about as close as a dog might get to sinnin’ in the eyes of Our Lord”. When asked to cite specific offenses, Laythrom highlighted “chewin’ up a good leatherbound Bible, and humpin’ on the legs of decent lady parishioners” as being among Rusty’s more spiritually-noteworthy transgressions.
“So I said to myself, there’s only one way to be sure”. Rusty was thus rendered officially heaven-bound on the morning of December sixteenth, a Sunday, in the presence of several dozen local witnesses, the first in a long series of animal baptisms to occur throughout the following months. “I just sleep better knowing poor ‘ol Rusty won’t spend the eons smoldering away in the unremitting agony of the abyss”.
Shortly thereafter, Laythrom, 62, claims he “saw my life’s work before me, clear as day”, and began to advertise his services in the classifieds of local newspapers. The first of his advertisements featured photographs of withered, defeated-looking canines, over which was imposed the phrase “Got Salvation? Baptize Your Best Friend Today.” Laythrom characterized the publics’ response as “immediate and overwhelming”, adding that “it was an idea whose time had apparently come. It probably seemed a ridiculous request to most, one they’d be pretty embarrassed to even suggest, ‘til they saw it bein’ offered. I just legitimized what everyone was thinking”. He claims that attendance of his services has swelled several-fold, an increase he believes is largely attributable to his commitment to animal salvation, and that he’ll soon require a larger venue in which to host the newfound initiates.
And Laythrom’s commitment to his professed calling is nothing short of blockbuster in scale. He proclaims that he “will not rest until every living organism on this earth has undergone a formal baptism”. When reminded that there exist at least several hundred trillion such individual organisms, and the practical considerations with respect to the time required to perform such an epic initiation, the Reverend replied “Picture John the Baptist, taller than Mount Shasta, plugged into a nuclear reactor and hopped-up on God’s Own Methamphetamine: that’s me.”
To his surprise, the Reverend was quickly inundated with requests to baptize not just dogs, but a host of other non-human companions. “A fella out in Cutten was raising crickets, for the specific purpose that they be fed to pet lizards and such. And that was apparently weighin’ on his mind some. Another family had just purchased a pony for their youngest daughter; as we couldn’t very well get ‘im into the tank, we had to do it down in the river.”
“I suppose it’s what they call the ‘domino effect’”, Laythrom pensively remarked. “You get to wondering about the fate of a dog’s soul, and it leads you to take into account that of a hamster, or maybe even a little sparrow. ‘Fore long, you move on down the line to cicadas and inchworms. By sundown, one starts reckoning the mortality of houseflies, house plants, dust mites, and all the rest, an’ I think, ‘hell Owen, what’ve you gotten yourself into’”? Following an uncomfortably long pause, the Reverend then added, “It’s just hard to know where exactly to draw the line.”
But many area animal rights advocates do not share Laythrom’s peculiar enthusiasm for animal salvation. In a recent press release, Barbara Nolan, a local spokesperson for the animal liberation group A.W.S.U.M. (Animals Without Supervision Undermining Mankind) stated: “it is a humiliating and unnatural thing to subject parakeets, horses, jackrabbits, dogs or any other animal to a Christian baptism. It is an affront to the autonomy and dignity of any living thing to impose upon it one’s own arcane, twisted spiritual delusion. Laythrom’s activities ought to inspire deep revulsion even among the most indifferent of individuals within our community, and local authorities and law enforcement officials should act immediately to end his campaign of terror against the voiceless individuals within our animal community.”
At last week’s city council meeting, Nolan further qualified her objections, characterizing Rev. Laythrom as “a confused and incorrigible Christian sociopath without scruples”, a “crooked wannabe messiah in the throes of early dementia”, and his services as “cruel and insane, shamelessly exploiting the gullibility of local believers while threatening the health and well-being of innocent, unconsenting animals”. Balancing her sternum upon the podium, she then held up before the assembled crowd her own canine, a beagle named Brownie, adorned in a miniature t-shirt which read “IF GOD WANTED ME UNDERWATER HE WOULD’VE GIVEN ME GILLS”.
And Laythrom’s circle of opposition extends well beyond the concerns of animal rights activists; indeed, among Laythrom’s more vocal critics have been members and representatives of various local Christian denominations, including a few of his own parishioners. Blaine Dickenson, Pastor of the local Seventh Day Adventists church remarked: “I heard about what ol’ Owen’s been doin’, the goats an’ all that, and cannot personally endorse such a thing. Me an’ Owen been friends and go back about thirty-five years, but giving the baptismal rites to a chicken is just about the most jackass thing I ever heard of.” Following a series of chuckles, he then added, “I guess it is pretty funny though.”
When confronted with questions concerning the ethical standing of his baptismal practice, Laythrom stood his ground: “Baptizing a cat is about as much fun as milking an upside-down cow”, said Laythrom, indicating the bluish, infected-looking scratches about his neck and forearms. “They tend to convulse violently, like they’re bein’ dipped in a fire, and they howl in a mournful sort of tone, like some diseased coyote. It’s like holy water on a demon; the more they twitch and moan, the more you can be certain that God’s medicine is takin’ effect. But no, they don’t seem to care for it a bit”.
Remarking specifically on the criticisms offered by Ms. Nolan, Laythrom noted that “Basically, our respective organizations are not at cross-purposes; we’re both interested in animal liberation. Their primary concern is to keep critters from dyin’ without necessity, and mine’s to ensure the necessity of their salvation after they’ve physically expired. And I don’t repudiate them for their neglect of the soul.”
But perhaps the most unlikely and remarkable of components attending Rev. Laythrom’s work is that his services are performed pro bono, without exception. “If one feels compelled to contribute, I tell ‘em, ‘wait ‘til we pass the plate around on Sunday’; last damn thing I need is to be called a charlatan or profiteer”, he said.
“I suppose that if I were of a bit more of an entrepreneurial disposition, I might well parlay this into the generation of some wealth. But I guess I might prefer to squeeze through the eye of a needle later, rather than sleep poorly now. If I were charging folks, I’d feel inclined to provide them an absolute guarantee that they’ll be reunited on high with their little companions, which I cannot, in any good faith, present. Instead, I offer up an insurance policy, of sorts: as far as God’s concerned, I reckon we did our best.”
