So after church, I decide to go pull some weeds. It’s weirdly relaxing. I decide to let these little dogs come out with me because...well, it’s a nice day. They’re clean. Nicely washed and groomed. Miss Zoey...constantly wandering off. I’m constantly having to call her name forcefully to shock her into obedience and to let her know I’m watching. Always watching. Then I scratch her back and talk sweetly to her. She wanders off again...into territory that’s not hers...this dog who hates to be washed...you know what she does? She finds something stinky on the neighbors’ lawn. She sniffs it apprehensively then proceeds to rub herself in it starting at her head, working her way down her sides. She hates baths!! But she doesn’t think about that when she’s rubbing herself in the stink.
“Zoey!! Come here! What have you done?” I say. She crouches, tail between her legs. Molly follows suit.
“See now? You’re both getting baths!”
See, for them, baths are uncomfortable. Molly has arthritic feet. Painful. Zoey doesn’t like the water in her face. Troubling to her.
Is it weird that my dogs are a constant sermon to me? Maybe. They make me remember that I can’t blame God for the painful situations I get myself into...that He daily cleans me up, but sometimes the things that attract me are “the stink!” And when He has to clean me up AGAIN, it’s painful. The old wounds, the arthritic areas, the scabs that get rubbed off in the cleansing just...hurt. Then guess what? I have to wash the dog beds too. I wash the beds so that they have a clean place to lie down. Sleep. They’re wandering around looking for a place to rest. I prepare a soft, old blanket for them while the dirty beds are being washed. More uneasiness. A situation they both created for themselves. Good dogs. Bad choices. Do you think they realize they can’t blame me for all that just transpired? Nah.