Uh Oh! Another Dog Story
I know, I know ... Many of you may be tired of hearing my dog stories. But now, raising a new dog, I have a whole new set of little life lessons I am learning. Say ... I don't know if I ever mentioned it, but I wrote a book about this very thing ... You know, in case you are interested in buying one. Little Oreo gives me a whole other crop of stories I could share. Who knows, a couple of years from now, maybe this Blog entry will end up being a chapter.
Those of you who know Oreo know that she is a bundle of relentless energy ... Those of you who know me know that I am not a bundle of relentless energy ... Fortunately, we sort of meet in the middle. I have a calming effect on her, she makes me get up and go downstairs from time to time (I casually refer to this as my "daily workout"). We have--as it is commonly known as--a symbiotic relationship.
Our relationship works in other ways as well. For instance, I don't like to clean up dog poo and she doesn't like to get swatted with a paper and so we have come to an understanding. We are both fairly needy when it comes to attention and so my arrival at home in the evenings is a cause of great celebration and affection.
One area that we do not necessarily agree is in the area of dining. Don't get me wrong, we both like to eat. She loves dog food and I love people food (except vegetables, but then, that isn't people food). The problem is that she loves people food and I don't like dog food--and that's not because I haven't tried it. I have a still-painful memory from my youth when I was taunting my Uncle Steve with a Gaines Burger, he threatened to force me to eat it, I was a brain-damaged child and thus continued
to taunt, and the rest ... as they say ... is history. Suffice it to say, the flavor was a little chalky and nothing like a real burger--well, maybe a little like a Krystal Burger (White Castle wannabees).
Oreo's love for people food does not come from developing a palate for it. In the time I have had her I haven't fed her any people food. Of course, there is that brief period when she stayed with my sister and parents. When I got her back she was disobedient and constantly begging for food. Isn't that just like grandparents? Spoiling the kid and then dumping them back on the primary care-giver to deal with the consequences (by the way, just a note: I do not refer to myself as Oreo's daddy as many people like to do with their dogs ... For one thing, I couldn't handle the scandal of having a child out of wedlock since I am unmarried ... For another thing, it is sort of weird. I do, however, refer to my parents as her grandpa and grandma, but this is mainly to goad my father.)
The other night, I stopped by our local Wings-to-Go franchise. They have a great
special on Wednesdays ... I like to pick up ten boneless wings after church on Wednesday nights for when I get home and watch LOST. I picked up my self-titled Down-the-"Hatch"-Meal to enjoy during the replaying of the show. Such was the case on this particular night.
Like so many other Wednesdays, I got home, put the food on the coffee table, let Oreo out of her kennel, took her outside, let her do her business, called for her to come back ... called again ... called again ... mumbled something about trading her for a fish ... called her again ... walked out into the jungle that is the lot next to our apartments ... finally got her on the same page with me, went back upstairs, got her food and drink and went to go make a beverage for myself to go with my "Hatch Meal."
It was, at this point, that the typical Wednesday routine was diverted. My phone rang and I went to answer it in the back. I talked for a few minutes and then hung up. I rose from my creaky desk chair and went back out toward the living room. Oreo zoomed by me in a blur and ran into her kennel. I didn't think to much of it as that sort of behavior is not un-normal for Oreo. She once stepped on a plastic grocery bag and the sound of it spooked her so much that she ran into the kennel for fear that the bag would attack again.
On this occasion, I believe it was guilt that drove her to the kennel. You see, when I returned to the living room, my "LOST Hatch Meal" was reduced to three wings (and those probably had puppy breath on them ... they tasted okay though). When I called for her to come out she cautiously poked her head out into the living room. She had this "hey, what's going on ... I was just taking a nap ... did I miss something?" look on her face. The problem was, I live alone and that narrows the suspect list down immensely. That and the honey-mustard sauce smeared all over her mouth. Judging by her face, when I went to the back, she popped the lid open and then apparently just plunged her face into the container, gulping down the wings as quickly as she could until she heard the chair creaking, thus signaling that I was getting up and coming back out.
I tried hard to be upset at her ... but the saucy face made it difficult. I toyed with the idea of eating her food just to get even, but they don't make Gaines Burgers anymore--at least, I don't think they do. I'll have to ask Uncle Steve next time I see him. I think I could take him now.
You know what lesson I learned? Yep, don't leave food on the coffee table ... pretty clear to me. What? You were looking for some deeply spiritual insight? Come on, spiritual lessons from a dog. That'll be the day. Oh ... okay, let me try (you are so needy).
The truth is, the next morning my devotional reading took me to 1 Corinthians 8 ... If you are not familiar, it is the chapter that Paul dedicates to the topic of eating meat that had been sacrificed to idols. Apparently, there was a big upheaval at the church there in Corinth. Some essentially felt that it was wrong to eat food that had been sacrificed to idols, while others were saying, "It's just meat ... Just because I eat it doesn't mean I worship the pagan god ... What's the big deal?"
Paul sums up the basic argument in the eighth verse. He states:
Imagine the moment for the meat-eaters among them: vindication. Paul agreed with them and they could eat the meat without fear of sinning against God. Of course, Paul didn't stop there. He goes on in verses 9-12:
Ouch! So much for freedom. Paul lays it out for them. Their sin was not eating the meat, but in being so unconcerned about their brother's conscience in pursuit of the rights to which they believe they were entitled.
So what does this have to do with Oreo? Well, as I sat there the next morning, I couldn't help but chuckle remembering the sauce-stained face. I was reminded that, still being a little puppy and despite my assertions that people food is not for her, the temptation to ignore that training is hard to resist when I leave her such easy access to it. I cause her to stumble, even though she knows better.
I also couldn't help but thinking how often I do this, not just with Oreo, but with people. I'm sure there have been many situations in which I may have caused others to stumble, but one in particular came to mind. It seared my conscience so much that I had to call this friend later that afternoon and confess my selfishness in a situation where I let my freedom become a stumbling block to a friend that I cared about greatly. Fortunately, my arrogance had not caused lasting damage and he let me know that it was alright and that he forgave me.
Even more convicting was how much in the past few weeks, I have sensed the same need to relinquish my freedom to do what I want and follow the assertion that Paul closes the eighth chapter with:
Excuse me, I think I hear Oreo rooting through my potato chips! Think I'll go check out some fish tomorrow ...
Those of you who know Oreo know that she is a bundle of relentless energy ... Those of you who know me know that I am not a bundle of relentless energy ... Fortunately, we sort of meet in the middle. I have a calming effect on her, she makes me get up and go downstairs from time to time (I casually refer to this as my "daily workout"). We have--as it is commonly known as--a symbiotic relationship.
Our relationship works in other ways as well. For instance, I don't like to clean up dog poo and she doesn't like to get swatted with a paper and so we have come to an understanding. We are both fairly needy when it comes to attention and so my arrival at home in the evenings is a cause of great celebration and affection.
One area that we do not necessarily agree is in the area of dining. Don't get me wrong, we both like to eat. She loves dog food and I love people food (except vegetables, but then, that isn't people food). The problem is that she loves people food and I don't like dog food--and that's not because I haven't tried it. I have a still-painful memory from my youth when I was taunting my Uncle Steve with a Gaines Burger, he threatened to force me to eat it, I was a brain-damaged child and thus continued
to taunt, and the rest ... as they say ... is history. Suffice it to say, the flavor was a little chalky and nothing like a real burger--well, maybe a little like a Krystal Burger (White Castle wannabees).Oreo's love for people food does not come from developing a palate for it. In the time I have had her I haven't fed her any people food. Of course, there is that brief period when she stayed with my sister and parents. When I got her back she was disobedient and constantly begging for food. Isn't that just like grandparents? Spoiling the kid and then dumping them back on the primary care-giver to deal with the consequences (by the way, just a note: I do not refer to myself as Oreo's daddy as many people like to do with their dogs ... For one thing, I couldn't handle the scandal of having a child out of wedlock since I am unmarried ... For another thing, it is sort of weird. I do, however, refer to my parents as her grandpa and grandma, but this is mainly to goad my father.)
The other night, I stopped by our local Wings-to-Go franchise. They have a great
special on Wednesdays ... I like to pick up ten boneless wings after church on Wednesday nights for when I get home and watch LOST. I picked up my self-titled Down-the-"Hatch"-Meal to enjoy during the replaying of the show. Such was the case on this particular night.Like so many other Wednesdays, I got home, put the food on the coffee table, let Oreo out of her kennel, took her outside, let her do her business, called for her to come back ... called again ... called again ... mumbled something about trading her for a fish ... called her again ... walked out into the jungle that is the lot next to our apartments ... finally got her on the same page with me, went back upstairs, got her food and drink and went to go make a beverage for myself to go with my "Hatch Meal."
It was, at this point, that the typical Wednesday routine was diverted. My phone rang and I went to answer it in the back. I talked for a few minutes and then hung up. I rose from my creaky desk chair and went back out toward the living room. Oreo zoomed by me in a blur and ran into her kennel. I didn't think to much of it as that sort of behavior is not un-normal for Oreo. She once stepped on a plastic grocery bag and the sound of it spooked her so much that she ran into the kennel for fear that the bag would attack again.
On this occasion, I believe it was guilt that drove her to the kennel. You see, when I returned to the living room, my "LOST Hatch Meal" was reduced to three wings (and those probably had puppy breath on them ... they tasted okay though). When I called for her to come out she cautiously poked her head out into the living room. She had this "hey, what's going on ... I was just taking a nap ... did I miss something?" look on her face. The problem was, I live alone and that narrows the suspect list down immensely. That and the honey-mustard sauce smeared all over her mouth. Judging by her face, when I went to the back, she popped the lid open and then apparently just plunged her face into the container, gulping down the wings as quickly as she could until she heard the chair creaking, thus signaling that I was getting up and coming back out.
I tried hard to be upset at her ... but the saucy face made it difficult. I toyed with the idea of eating her food just to get even, but they don't make Gaines Burgers anymore--at least, I don't think they do. I'll have to ask Uncle Steve next time I see him. I think I could take him now.
You know what lesson I learned? Yep, don't leave food on the coffee table ... pretty clear to me. What? You were looking for some deeply spiritual insight? Come on, spiritual lessons from a dog. That'll be the day. Oh ... okay, let me try (you are so needy).
The truth is, the next morning my devotional reading took me to 1 Corinthians 8 ... If you are not familiar, it is the chapter that Paul dedicates to the topic of eating meat that had been sacrificed to idols. Apparently, there was a big upheaval at the church there in Corinth. Some essentially felt that it was wrong to eat food that had been sacrificed to idols, while others were saying, "It's just meat ... Just because I eat it doesn't mean I worship the pagan god ... What's the big deal?"
Paul sums up the basic argument in the eighth verse. He states:
Food does not bring us near to God; we are no worse if we do not eat, and no better if we do.
1st Corinthians 8:8 ... NIV
Imagine the moment for the meat-eaters among them: vindication. Paul agreed with them and they could eat the meat without fear of sinning against God. Of course, Paul didn't stop there. He goes on in verses 9-12:
Be careful, however, that the exercise of your freedom does not become a stumbling block to the weak. For if anyone with a weak conscience sees you who have this knowledge eating in an idol's temple, won't he be emboldened to eat what he has been sacrificed to idols? So this weak brother, for whom Christ died, is destroyed by your knowledge. When you sin against your brothers in this way and wound their weak conscience, you sin against Christ.
1st Corinthians 8:9-12 ... NIV
Ouch! So much for freedom. Paul lays it out for them. Their sin was not eating the meat, but in being so unconcerned about their brother's conscience in pursuit of the rights to which they believe they were entitled.
So what does this have to do with Oreo? Well, as I sat there the next morning, I couldn't help but chuckle remembering the sauce-stained face. I was reminded that, still being a little puppy and despite my assertions that people food is not for her, the temptation to ignore that training is hard to resist when I leave her such easy access to it. I cause her to stumble, even though she knows better.
I also couldn't help but thinking how often I do this, not just with Oreo, but with people. I'm sure there have been many situations in which I may have caused others to stumble, but one in particular came to mind. It seared my conscience so much that I had to call this friend later that afternoon and confess my selfishness in a situation where I let my freedom become a stumbling block to a friend that I cared about greatly. Fortunately, my arrogance had not caused lasting damage and he let me know that it was alright and that he forgave me.
Even more convicting was how much in the past few weeks, I have sensed the same need to relinquish my freedom to do what I want and follow the assertion that Paul closes the eighth chapter with:
Therefore, if what I eat causes my brother (or dog for that matter) to fall into sin, I will never eat meat again, so that I will not cause him to fall.
1 Corinthians 8:13 ... NIV
(Parenthesis are mine ... as if you didn't know that)
(Parenthesis are mine ... as if you didn't know that)
Excuse me, I think I hear Oreo rooting through my potato chips! Think I'll go check out some fish tomorrow ...
