He chews on anything he can sink his sharp little teeth into—stuffed animals, my leather sandals, socks—except his own toys and rawhides. Three times a day we toss his mat into his crate. Three times a day he drags it back into the den. Every now and then he still has an accident if we don’t get him outside in time. He can’t bathe himself, pay for his own food, or ring that handy bell we hung beside the door. He definitely takes time, energy, and money that I don’t have—and I…adore…him. It’s inexplicable. But what’s even more amazing is how unfailingly happy he is to see us, the people who lock him up for hours, feed him the same food every meal every day, and who force him to pee in the rain. My little people don’t recognize their mama who’s become this dog-loving person—this Oscar-loving person—who greets her “baby” before saying hello to anyone else in the house. My sweet sister gave him to me, but only God could know that smelling his little corn-chip-scented feet and watching him hop like a bunny after his ball would lift my spirits at the end of a long day. Leave it to my Father to anticipate such a need, and meet it with a four-legged solution. “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights, who whom there is no variation or shadow of turning.” James 1:17
We have a fur baby as well! It is amazing how fast they become family, and steal your heart!
Nice blog mate! Thanks for posting!