A Boy And His Dog

I have finally been trained. Fear of hell and love of God sometimes fail to get me to move my big behind off the couch. There are times I will even sit in front of my computer, getting more and more hungry, but will not get up to make dinner. This may be a bit delicate, but I will not move from my spot until my bladder threatens to overflow AND I am in pain! But... one little whimper from my dog Dina and I am up and at-em.

I don't really understand why I am so attached to this creature. She is a sheltie, aka a shetland sheep dog, who would never qualify as a show dog. She sheds. She, like her owner, is overweight. Her oversensitive stomach results in frequent eruptions from one end or the other that require her human to fetch cleaner and paper towels. She sheds. She wants to play when I am tired. She does not fetch my slippers. She barks at the slightest noise outside. And did I mention, she sheds?

I do know that she is attached to me. Perhaps that is why I love her so. If I am sad, she will sit or lie at my feet for hours. If I turn on the TV she will sigh and resign herself to being ignored for an hour or so unless her bladder threatens to overflow! I didn't teach her how to do any of these things. It is just the way she loves.

I've often thought that I should preach a homily at Mass suggesting that my Catholic brothers and sisters need to be like my dog. I don't think that would go over very well. I do think, however, that if we all treated each other with the same regard and devotion that my dog, Dina, has for me the world would be a dog-gone great place to live!