I grapple with the idea of God.

I know that might be difficult to hear, since I am a rabbi. But I’m also human, and a pragmatic one.

I can’t imagine a Deity who does things. Pays attention to the weather. Thinks about the needs and desires of individuals. Makes decisions — this one has a good day, that one survives a terrible accident, she gets pregnant, she doesn’t.

It all seems so petty to me, so unGod-like. Shouldn’t God be thinking about important stuff? Ending wars, making new planets, creating something that never existed before? Maybe a new color?

So when people say “it’s beshert” (meant to be) or “when God closes one door, he opens another,” I politely refrain from responding. Because my answer would be, “I don’t believe in that God.”

Bad things happen to good people. Good things happen to bad people. That’s reality. Why they happen to one person and not another isn’t important. What matters is what we do with the truth we’ve been handed.

I’m about to tell you a story that, given who I am and what I believe, does not fit.

On Thursday evening, as Rosh Hashanah LaBehamot was about to begin, my elderly dog Houdini drew his last breath. He’d been failing, and over the past week it became clear that he was dying. I took him to my vet, and we did him the kindness of alleviating his pain and suffering.

I found it both comforting and appropriate that he died on the Jewish New Year of the Animals.

Friday evening, a few minutes before I was to lead Shabbat services, my cell phone rang. I only answered because it said “vet” on the screen.

On the other end of the line was my veterinarian, a little hysterical because she thought it was absurd to be calling me with her problem. The problem? A 12-year-old Havanese dog who had been left at the vet to be euthanized, but really wasn’t ready to die.

She didn’t want to call me. But Kelsey, one of her vet techs who has been my daughter’s best friend since preschool, insisted that I was the right person.

Dr. A. described the situation, said the dog’s name was Ernie, and told me she would text me a photo. And just like that, I agreed to take him. Sight unseen. By Saturday afternoon, less than 48 hours after Houdini died, he was in my home, napping on my bed.

It is difficult for me to believe that God had a hand in this. And yet, the coincidence is hard to deny. So is the loneliness that had already begun to descend. I live alone; my dog is my only regular companion.

Maybe God really does pay attention to our little lives. As I look at the many lives this story involved, I am reminded that it’s not just about me:

It’s about Dr. A., who wouldn’t euthanize a healthy dog; his elderly owner, who left him and fled in tears; Kelsey, who knew exactly where Ernie needed to be; the people who love me and ached for my pain; and Ernie himself, an unwitting participant in the drama that swirled around him. And Houdini, who chose exactly the right moment to make his departure.

Despite my strong urge to deny that God engineered this situation, it is still true that both Ernie and I have received a gift. One that is both extraordinary and unexpected.

Was this a God-Touch? Or just a happy accident?

I will never know. And I don’t really care. I am simply grateful.

Meet Ernie.