Yesterday Tasha left the path during our walk. This is only for ill, trust me.
She’s much too old to chase squirrels or even hear them when they mock at her. But she can still smell…and leaving the path means she has sniffed out something absolutely, disgustingly rotting.
We don't take her in the woods during deer-hunting season because apart from the obvious concern that she’ll get shot, she eats the eviscerations left behind by successful hunters. It doesn't matter how far off the path the hunter has gutted his kill--she will smell it and find it. Twice she has thrown up bloody deer liver on my office floor and I once won a contest at a church supper of the most disgusting thing someone’s dog had ever vomited. (Email if you want to know.)
Yesterday, by the time I ran back up the path after her, she was chewing some poor critter that had moldered nicely for weeks. Though wisdom (and squeamishness) decrees I never to look at what she’s consumed, I do need to anticipate the results of her unauthorized snack.
This means closing the door to my office for a day or so while whatever she’s gotten into works through her system. The rest of the downstairs is hardwood or vinyl flooring and easy to clean up. My office used to be a lovely off-white carpet but it's been oft splattered with her vomit after “straying from the path."
Of course I forgot to shut the door.
Tasha left me a couple of nice splotches of gooey poops on my office rug. I held my breath while I scrubbed and oxygenated, trying not to throw up and leave my own stains. It has occurred to me that these stains in the carpet would be here long after Tasha leaves us. Doesn’t matter how much I soak, scrub, or oxygenate—some stains can’t be completely eradicated.
When I look at these in a couple of years, will I be like MacBeth’s wife, pleading “Out, out damn spot?” Or will I smile, and miss Tasha’s various forays off the path.
Lady MacBeth was tormented by a blood guilt for which she had no remedy.
We, on the other hand, are blessed with a God who doesn’t hold His breath when he cleans up our bloody, messy guilt. Quite the opposite—He breathes life back into us.
Even when we’ve strayed far off the path.
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4 comments:
From one who has strayed often, I say, yea and amen to our wonderful, forgiving God.
Buying upholstered furniture for the living room in my new home a few years ago, I kept saying, "No, not this one; no, this isn't quite right." Finally the chair-and-sofa saleslady said in exasperation, "Just what is it that you're looking for?!" She paled when I told her I wanted something the color of cat vomit, so it wouldn't show, but that's what I ended up with, and it looks quite nice, thank you!
Your posts are always awesome. I think, "ok, what possible spiritual application is she going to get from this disgusting topic?" And there you go... you're like...amazing. :)
Egads...I guess that is better than the smell my Brea comes back with when she's gotten up close and personal with our local Peppy La Pue!
LOL...I'd rather vomit than Skunk smell!
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