DOG: PUG
There he stood, right in the middle of the street – a very small tan dog, tail curled onto his back, pug face that only the most deluded of mothers could love. He remained absolutely motionless, entirely impervious to the honking of horns, and looked off into some distant doggie vision. He was in great danger of being hit by a car.
I stopped my vehicle and got out, thinking I could lift him gently onto the curb. Whoops! Did he ever have other ideas! He was obviously sure that the center line was his very own personal territory to protect with all his might. He barked and lunged at me and clearly told me to mind my own business.
The problem was, he was still in danger, so I tried another tactic. Maybe I could shoo him to the curb. But as I swooshed my arms in my best “Git! Git!” form, he barked himself around and around in small circles, with me following behind. At that point it became unclear to me as to who was the chaser and who the chasee.
Finally, I looked up and saw a line of cars waiting. Was I ever embarrassed! Probably people in cars further down the line couldn’t see this little bitty Cujo. They must have thought some really demented soul was doing an impromptu hokey-pokey in the middle of the street.
Be that as it may, Little Feisty at last ran to the curb and took off at a pretty good clip, making it to safety and, I truly hoped, to his own home. I slinked back into my car, the shine on my red face reflecting off the dashboard, and drove on.
Lord, we confess that we, too, resist your help and run ourselves around in circles rather than yield to your shooing. Some prideful part of us wants to pull ourselves up out of our own predicaments. We want to use our own ideas, our own defenses, our own plans to get through life. We thank you for your persistence with us. And we ask for the courage and the willingness to let you lift us to the curb, for in spite of all our struggling, we do know that is the only way we will get there. Amen.