If you were to ask the boys what their dog’s name was, they would name Bart, the big yellow lab. Bart was born in our dog pen when they were 10 and 12, and all three of them grew up together. Eleven years later, when we finally had to put him down, it was a sad day for all of us, but Lucas put it most succinctly when I asked how he was. “Today my dog died.” It did not matter that we already had another one. It did not matter that we had one when he was three, who lived five years, nor did it matter that we had Bart’s mother nearly as long as we had him. Bart was the one they played with, the one they rolled around on the ground with, the one they hiked through the woods with, the one they lay their heads on in the field when they were gazing up into the sky at the clouds, talking, dreaming, and planning their lives.
Bart was a good dog, sweet and lovable, and I knew my boys were safe with him. But he was hands down the dumbest dog we ever had. Even his mother (his dog-mother, not me!) got a kick out of tricking him.
Once we laid out a pan of rib bones for them both. If Bart saw anything come out of the house in our hands, he immediately thought it was good food, and usually wolfed it down before he could possibly have tasted it. His mother was well aware of that. As soon as we laid down that pan, she stood up with her ears pricked, and started running down the drive barking. Bart, of course, fell in step beside her and, being bigger with longer legs, soon outran her, heading for the gate, a couple hundred yards away. His mother stopped and watched to make sure he was still going all out to get the nonexistent boogey man, then calmly walked back to the pan of ribs. By the time Bart figured it out and came back, Mom had had her fill and she left the remainder for her “little boy” to finish up, which he did in about thirty seconds. He never really seemed to understand what she had done to him, even though we all stood there laughing until our sides nearly split open.
That was Bart for you. Once I threw out some sweet potato skins just to see what would happen. He gulped down three of the four before he realized he didn’t like them and quit. Lucas, who could go through a quart jar of my dill pickles in two sittings, once poured the leftover brine into a bowl and took it outside. I am sure this was not just his idea. His little brother seems to be the prankster in the family, and I do recall that Nathan was out there watching too, laughing the most as Bart slurped up about a cupful of the salty, vinegary concoction. He finally stopped and looked at what he was drinking. The worst part was that he also looked at the boys like he was thinking, “You gave this to me, so it must be good. Why don’t I like it?” Instant guilt trip!
And then there was the time I threw some trash into the burn barrel and lit it. Bart was so sure it must be good food that he licked the side of that red hot barrel, as I was frantically screaming, “No!” He ran around in circles trying to make his tongue stop burning. I gave him some cold water to drink, but I doubt he really quit hurting for a day or two.
And that is exactly how we do with sin. Our friends are involved in it; society accepts it; it must be okay, and we wolf it down without a second thought. So why is my life falling apart? Why do I feel so bad about what I am doing? It cannot possibly be that this stuff does not taste as good as everyone says it does. Are we being as gullible as that big dumb yellow lab of ours? The answer is probably yes. Unfortunately, we sometimes don’t even have the sense he did to finally realize sin does not taste that good and quit. And also unfortunately, one can develop a taste for things that really don’t taste very good at all. And sooner or later our tongues will be burned on the garbage we have tried to ingest into our souls.
God does have your good at heart. He will not play any tricks on you. Listen to what He says about how to live your life, and you will find that everything will taste a whole lot better.
Oh taste and see that Jehovah is good; blessed is the man who takes refuge in him. Oh fear Jehovah, you his saints, for there is no want in those who fear him. The young lions lack and suffer hunger, but those who seek Jehovah shall not want for any good thing, Psa 34: 8-10.
Dene Ward
Bart was a good dog, sweet and lovable, and I knew my boys were safe with him. But he was hands down the dumbest dog we ever had. Even his mother (his dog-mother, not me!) got a kick out of tricking him.
Once we laid out a pan of rib bones for them both. If Bart saw anything come out of the house in our hands, he immediately thought it was good food, and usually wolfed it down before he could possibly have tasted it. His mother was well aware of that. As soon as we laid down that pan, she stood up with her ears pricked, and started running down the drive barking. Bart, of course, fell in step beside her and, being bigger with longer legs, soon outran her, heading for the gate, a couple hundred yards away. His mother stopped and watched to make sure he was still going all out to get the nonexistent boogey man, then calmly walked back to the pan of ribs. By the time Bart figured it out and came back, Mom had had her fill and she left the remainder for her “little boy” to finish up, which he did in about thirty seconds. He never really seemed to understand what she had done to him, even though we all stood there laughing until our sides nearly split open.
That was Bart for you. Once I threw out some sweet potato skins just to see what would happen. He gulped down three of the four before he realized he didn’t like them and quit. Lucas, who could go through a quart jar of my dill pickles in two sittings, once poured the leftover brine into a bowl and took it outside. I am sure this was not just his idea. His little brother seems to be the prankster in the family, and I do recall that Nathan was out there watching too, laughing the most as Bart slurped up about a cupful of the salty, vinegary concoction. He finally stopped and looked at what he was drinking. The worst part was that he also looked at the boys like he was thinking, “You gave this to me, so it must be good. Why don’t I like it?” Instant guilt trip!
And then there was the time I threw some trash into the burn barrel and lit it. Bart was so sure it must be good food that he licked the side of that red hot barrel, as I was frantically screaming, “No!” He ran around in circles trying to make his tongue stop burning. I gave him some cold water to drink, but I doubt he really quit hurting for a day or two.
And that is exactly how we do with sin. Our friends are involved in it; society accepts it; it must be okay, and we wolf it down without a second thought. So why is my life falling apart? Why do I feel so bad about what I am doing? It cannot possibly be that this stuff does not taste as good as everyone says it does. Are we being as gullible as that big dumb yellow lab of ours? The answer is probably yes. Unfortunately, we sometimes don’t even have the sense he did to finally realize sin does not taste that good and quit. And also unfortunately, one can develop a taste for things that really don’t taste very good at all. And sooner or later our tongues will be burned on the garbage we have tried to ingest into our souls.
God does have your good at heart. He will not play any tricks on you. Listen to what He says about how to live your life, and you will find that everything will taste a whole lot better.
Oh taste and see that Jehovah is good; blessed is the man who takes refuge in him. Oh fear Jehovah, you his saints, for there is no want in those who fear him. The young lions lack and suffer hunger, but those who seek Jehovah shall not want for any good thing, Psa 34: 8-10.
Dene Ward
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