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Change. I've learned to embrace it, ride it out til the end. Sometimes I'm kicking and screaming, other times weeping with my eyes clinched tight. Once in awhile I ride like a dog in a car, head out the window snorting what life has to offer. Mother to young adult children, a marriage of thirty years, and a desert to mountain to valley waltz with God have shaped me into someone I never imagined I'd be. Life is short and I want to live it. Tears, sighs, laughter and change. Every morsel granted to me. Scrambled, shaken or stirred.

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Scribble and Scrambles - Piddling Along....



I don't think this will be a flattering comparison, but this is where I live, people.
Ready?

As much as I don't want to, I really can't help finding similarities between the Christian walk and puppy training or maybe the more appropriate title of puppy wrangling.

I suppose I'm not the only one to make this connection since there is that very unpleasant scripture regarding dogs and their vomit. But I'm not even going to go there, I'm not exactly a Solomon.

Point One.

No matter how much I congratulate myself or my daughter regarding the mastering of potty training, we are still unable, at the one year mark, to trust the puppies to be home alone in the house. Oh, they do very well with supervision... most of the time. However, two puppies guarantees distractions, and distractions and moderately full bladders equals accidents waiting to happen. And they do.

When we first got them and Rob and I puppysat, within twenty minutes we might have six accidents (the puppies, not us). The big issue seemed to be the previous owners training the puppies to use puppy pads, so they seemed to think the world was just one big old puppy pad. How many rolls of paper towels did we go through? How many bottles of cleaner? Oy! Eventually, they seem to understand that outside = potty. Good girl. Treats! Happy people. Indoor = not potty, not happy people.

Lately, with the rain, we've discovered that they will go as close to the house as possible. Better than the floor, but we're talking a yard that is just shy of an acre. A branching out would be nice. But the rain is not something they care for. And we've set out a board to help cut down on tracked mud. Lola, the especially rain-hating, will go on the board every time she's not directed elsewhere. And Lily will head outside and chase a leaf and forget to go potty, so we have to watch her to make sure she goes. They both have played the "I went, now I get my treat!" game and have only piddled when there should be some puddling going on and we have to tell them to go again.

I'm glad we live in the country. I'd hate to have close neighbors have to listen to the endless chants of "Go Potty!" " Lily! No! Potty! Lily! Go peepee!" "No! Not on the board, Lola!"

So how are we, as Christians, like puppy training?

We have bad habits that make the new ways of walking and talking difficult to embrace.

We have to be told over and over again. Seriously, when was the last time you got a spiritual truth the FIRST time you encountered it? I have to hear it Sunday, read it Monday, be slapped by a real-life example on Tuesday, and then have it set to music on Wednesday. And that's just week one.

We are so fearful and skittish of things outside of our experience/comfort level, that we hover as close to the door as we possibly can. So much so that we sometimes have to leap over piles of our own making, or walk right through them.

That's enough for today. I'm getting a little depressed just thinking about it. Hope you are not tracking through bad habits and leaving a certain perfume wherever you're going today. I'm going to check my shoes, and between my toes because I'm smelling something a little rank.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

Re your Puppy Profundity.....very identifiable to mothers of humanoids as well as petsoids. "Stepping in it" reminded me of a work "Pat" scenario: after he came back from lunch one day, & as he typed on his keyboard, he would stop periodically and sniff in the air, not unlike Lily & Lola checkin' the breeze. It got more frequent--I just watched silently from my computer next to his. Finally, he blurted, "I smell Mexican pizza!", and proceeded to spastically sniff the air and even his own armpits. I said, "Pat, since YOU just returned from Taco Bell, I suspect you are the source." He jumped back from his keyboard, and lifted his foot to look at the bottom of his shoe, like he had just tracked through Lily-Doo, apparently looking for Mexican pizza. That is when I totally lost it, and had to laugh & snort my way totally out of the department to regain composure. I am NOT my brother's keeper--am I???

Kelly Klepfer said...

Ha. I love that story. I didn't even think about the Pat connection. Thanks. I've witnessed the spastic sniffing ritual. The man's got a nose!