NOTE TO THE READER. PLEASE ANSWER THE QUESTION AT THE END OF THIS TALE.
I wouldn't
read "Wild at Heart" when it came out because I have a deep and abiding
prejudice against popular Christian books. A few years back, the morning men’s group I was
part of at Fellowship used that book and its video series for a study, so I found myself backed into reading it. I ended up liking it. I hate it when my most precious prejudices are so carelessly taken away.
Stimulated by our discussions concerning
what it means to be a Christian man, I began thinking to myself, "My
parents divorced when I was three. I was mostly raised after that by my mom and
grandma. For the last so many years I've lived with my wife and three
daughters. All of our dogs and other animals have even been female. I’ll not stand for this any longer! A man can only put up with just so much. Enough is
enough! I’m going to find me A MAN DOG!"
Each day for the next several weeks I visited the Humane Society shelter looking for THE MAN
DOG. Coming in from the garage after getting home from one of those searches, I was met by Becky (my wife) asking where my dog was. One of our daughters it turns out, had told her I was at
the humane society looking for a dog. I realized then I hadn't informed her of my quest. I offered no defense, saying only, “I haven’t found one that talked to me yet."
But a few days later, I found him. He was a clumsy, brown pup, just eight weeks old, with big feet, a strong nose, and flapping ears. He talked to me. He was the one I had been waiting for. I took him from his cage and brought him home without realizing he'd grow to 160lbs. He drools, snores, and
farts. He'd drink beer if he could open the fridge. He's the
quintessential MAN DOG. No longer am I surrounded with nothing but estrogen. Noooo, not me. I have THE MAN DOG. It's great!
Becky wanted
to name him. Each day after he'd moved in with us, she came up with names she wanted me to give him. She had named all our girls and most of the
animals, but she WAS NOT going to name THE MAN DOG. I told her in no uncertain terms that her days of naming were over. "He'll tell us his name when he's good and ready." I said. "Until then, you will respectfully refer to him as THE DUDE."
THE DUDE decided we were OK after hanging with us for a month or so. It was 'round this time he said his name was Malcolm Muggeridge. "My friends just call me Muggs," he said matter of factly. "Good name!" I said. "Solid! In fact, turns out my Christian
mentor was an English guy with the same name."
I don't think he was listening. He's one of those dogs that has his own thing going on, if you know what I mean. Kind of like Miles Davis, or Sean Connery, or Frank Sinatra in the early sixties.
Some people.......... some dogs........... are simply born cool. Cool is not something a person or dog can learn. You are either cool, or you're not. It's just the way things are. The MAN DOG .................. is COOOOOOL.
Muggs later told me he too was
English -- English Mastiff to be exact. I nodded and said, "COOL!"
Yepp! No uncool girly names for............THE MAN DOG!
END OF TALE
QUESTION: Does the dog wag the tale, or the tale wag the dog?