If your dog could talk: "You're leaving me? What did I do wrong? How long will you be gone this time? PLEASE TAKE ME WITH YOU!!!"

Sherlock and his trusted sidekick and friend, Dr. Bentley.

Sorry about taking over the opening paragraph of today's blog, but, maybe going to the dogs will be an improvement. I've heard that some are not too excited when I share my thoughts about it all, and, according to the fellow I report to, (sorry but that's the way he requires me to say it), it's okay since everyone is entitled to their own preferences. It is Thursday, February 20, 2020, and, I'm going to do my best to dig up some bone-i-fied tidbits for my time with you today. Sorry about the hat in the photo. The mistress of the house recently found it stuck back in a closet and he's been messing around with it ever since. I actually think he sees himself as some sort of throw-back detective or private eye. Let the record show I had nothing to do with it and I don't have to tell you I am not a police dog. I have my annual checkup coming up. They whisper forth and back like I don't understand what the word shot means. It's like when he succumbs to taking me on my well-deserved truck ride each morning. He tells the mistress he is going to do the R-I-D-E. He does. He spells it out. Is that not hilarious or what? After all, I am nearly 15 months old and according to some so-called experts that makes me an adolescent in people years. At any rate, I figured out the R-I-D-E the first time he used it. But, I do my best not to show him up because he is the one driving. He tells everyone he always wanted a dog who would love to ride with him in his pickup truck. Hello? I'm here! Yet, every morning we go through this senseless routine of me nagging and gnawing to get him to take me on the R-I-D-E. I heard him say he wants me to see the first lady doctor we saw on my very first appointment. He says her love for animals is all over her. I vaguely remember her encouraging me to lick her in the face. That may have been fun but I ask you, what does that have to do with her veterinarian skills? At any rate, I pretty much don't have a say in this, I started to say a dog in this hunt, but, I knew some of you might think I'm reaching. I hope she will be prepared because the last time I saw her I was 9 weeks old and if licking is what she wants, well, I can give her a shower! Thanks for hearing me out and I will catch up with you next time. Meanwhile, back to your scheduled program which, based on what I'm seeing, it's mostly either recycled or rerun thoughts every day.

I relinquished that opening space for all of Mr. Bentley's fans out there. He is popular. And, yes, he knows it. He also knows the white-handled red-headed spatula can hurt like ole billy heck. He at times needs to be reminded of that. I heard of something hurting like ole billy heck in my growing up days in rural Louisiana. It must be obscure. I couldn't locate it to help identify its origin. It most likely falls into the category of lost Southern sayings. He, in many ways, is just like a kid. That's why he needs to be disciplined. One of the worst grievances I committed as a kid was any time I chose to act up during the Church service. The older I got, it was the more prone for me and a buddy to either chit chat with each other or find some kind of amusement to entertain us during the services. Here we sat. Feeling pretty invincible at 10 or 11 years old. We were maybe playing a little hangman's game or tic tac toe, probably snickering a little too. Suddenly, an arm comes over the bench from out of nowhere. It gets hold of the fatty part of my arm just below the shoulder. I sware my mom could make her fingernails meet in the middle, top to bottom. I couldn't scream even though the pain was next to unbearable. I couldn't cry because of my buddy sitting next to me. All I was left with was a contorted grimace and some shivering until she released her grip. That was all. She returned to her place and we sat up straight and looked directly at the preacher until the service was over. No doubt the look on my face during the punishment portion of the service would have met Paw Paw Mac's prophetic warning, "Son, you better hope it doesn't freeze with your face like that!"

I mentioned the other day I don't have even an inkling of a bad feeling about the discipline I received from my mom. I don't. And, if you would like to say perhaps this explains why I am the way I am, I can handle that. It most likely is true because we are all the outcome of 'all of the above' in terms of our backgrounds and experiences. Regardless, we all stand equally in need of a Savior because we are all born sinners. The ground is level at the foot of The Cross and no one has any more merit than anyone else. Jesus said He came to seek those who are lost. That would be me. That would be you. Maybe some who read my blogs have had a really rough go of it. I can also tell my story that way because in so many ways life is never fair. However, at the same time, I can testify that Jesus will take a person in and love them all the way to the end. No matter what. He said that anyone who would come to Him, He would never cast them away. That's why it is called Good News! I mention again the lead line in the chorus of a song the wife and I used to sing as a special, "Jesus is right for whatever is wrong in your life." Maybe I got some of that when I straightened up, flew right, and looked directly at the preacher. Thanks, mom. Have a great rest of the day and thanks to you also for taking your valuable time to peruse my prose. God is good. He really is. Amen. ....More later.