Morning Dogs

     Early morning thoughts while listening to Chopin’s Opus 42 in A-flat major. (Read once that it was Harry Truman’s favorite. Been thinking about him this week for some reason).

     As I write this, Suzi the Evangelist Dog is staring at me with love in her eyes. At least I think it is love. Could it be hunger?

     She was thrown out at an abandoned church in south Lonoke County, Arkansas in the middle of the summer and was discovered there by the Queen B and the Lady Hazel. She lived under the church for weeks with a collection of toys she had gathered—tin cans, sticks, sacks, and assorted rags. The ladies fed her until she became trusting enough to come with them to the farm.

     She’s been our spiritual leader since. She’s the one who once picked a fight with a Bush-Hog and lost. The leg still bothers her some after a long day of digging for moles. We encourage her to cease that practice but she likens it to rooting out the evil amongst us. She is also an inveterate shoe-chewer, says we need to remember that Christ had only one pair of shoes and that should be enough for anyone.
     Oops ... must go now. She wants to discuss the disappearance of the concept of grace among the fundamentalist congregations. Oh dear.

    

Eyes that could melt steel, steal your heart,
 or steel you against life's trials.

"I care not for a man's religion whose dog and cat are not the better for it." - Abraham Lincoln.

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