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Dog Strikes Again

We haven’t come home to a trash mess for a while, so I guess we were just due. Frankly, opening the front door to a burst, splattered trash bag is a good test of how well you are managing stress, how normal your blood pressure is and whether you have allowed that morning Bible verse or devotion to saturate your spirit. Today’s text was “and be renewed in the spirit of your mind”. I need something to create a hedge of protection around me as I go through the day with its challenges and surprises because, well, I can get a bit angry if left to my own devices. Even at my dog.

What was different about today that made him take it out on the trash? I imagine it must be rough now and then being an only dog, but biting the hand that feeds you is not the way to go. Humans don’t like that, Dog. We don’t like opening the door to an ocean of food scraps (especially half-rotten melon rinds—yuk!), chewed-up food packaging and the army of ants that are the natural companions to garbage.

Confronted with evidence of his crime, Dog bolted from the house into the darkness.

Looks like someone has bought a one-way trip back to the SPCA, I growled.

It’s too late for that, Hubby countered. Is he actually going to stick up for this Dog? Is it a guy thing?

No, it’s not. We could say we’re moving and can’t take him.

So . . . how are you going to explain it when you show up to adopt another dog?

So level headed.

With the kitchen finally cleaned up, we proceed upstairs only to be met by a Hanzel and Gretel-style trail of lesser bits of trash. Something on the steps. Something else in the hall. A wrapper in the bedroom. Why don’t dogs have thumbs so they can pick up after themselves?

And be renewed in the spirit of your mind.

I shook it off and changed my mind about turning him in.

Finally, like a child who decided to run away from home but didn’t know what to do when he reached the end of the street (after all, having no money, no job opportunities and no food can be a drag), Dog appeared out of the darkness, waiting in the driveway for permission to return. How do I know? I was out there looking for him. I brought him inside, sat him down, and prepare to give him a good talking to. He may not be a brainy Border Collie, but he knows enough to pull out the only weapons he has in a situation like this. I wiggle my finger in his face and tell him how naughty he is. He looks up at me with big, pleading brown eyes. I continue, after all, Mommy is really, really mad. Big brown eyes plus head tilt.

Just don’t do it again. I mean it. Scratch behind the ears. With smirk and a wagging tail, Dog trots off.

Dog is no fool.

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