Great Dog Stories (19 page)

Finally, Dad and my brother Darrell went to pick him up. They brought home this tiny bundle of black and white fur. He had big, bulging black eyes and a black button marking on his forehead. Darrell gently put the puppy down on the floor as we all gathered around him. He couldn’t have weighed more than a couple of pounds and all of it was shaking. Mom said, in her typical mom fashion, “Oh, poor little thing. Let’s warm up some milk for him.”

The next event was to name our new canine friend. After some common names were tossed out, Darrell shouted, “I know, I know! Spitfire!” He had just completed a Spitfire model airplane. A Spitfire was a little bomber plane that seemed to never give up. Darrell just knew this little guy would live up to the name. Everyone loved it, so the family puppy was Spitfire from that moment on.

Spitfire was a very smart little dog. We didn’t care about teaching him tricks, but we needed to train him to live with his seven new humans. Spitfire was allowed in the backyard and den, but not in any other rooms. He was permitted to come into the house only through the back door. When he came to the front door he was told, “No Spitfire, you have to go to the back.” Whoever said this would then run to the back door, open it, and call him. In just a few seconds, he would show up at the back door and contentedly walk in.

Spitfire had a little rug in front of the den television where he liked to snooze. But Mom’s rule was that he had to sleep in the backyard at night. When it was time to let him out, one of us would walk up to him and he would start to snore loudly. He thought this would change our minds. But Mom was strict, and she always prevailed in the end.

Even though Spitfire knew what was expected of him, he sometimes had other ideas. One day, Darrell and Dad got on Dad’s Honda 90 motorcycle and took off down the back alley. Spitfire was told to stay home, and they thought all the doors and gates were closed. But our little dog found a way to get out, and he ran behind them, barking all the way. Darrell turned around and ordered him home, but Spitfire didn’t obey. Before they got to the end of the alley, Dad stopped the Honda and got off. He looked down at Spitfire and pointed toward the house. “Go home, Spitfire! Go home!”

Spitfire knew when Dad yelled, he had better listen. He turned around, hung his head, and slowly started walking home. Dad shouted, “Run home, Spitfire!” Spitfire rapidly picked up his pace. Dad and Darrell followed him so they could secure whatever opening he had escaped through. Then they jumped back on the Honda and took off again.

Apparently Spitfire had some sort of secret escape plan, because he got out of the backyard again. This time he ran in the opposite direction. He ended up at our pastor’s home several blocks away. The pastor’s family thought they recognized our little dog, so they called him over. Spitfire came and they played with him in their front yard. When everyone got tired they decided to ask him in for a cool drink of water. They all walked in the front door and invited Spitfire to come with them. Somehow Spitfire knew it was their front door. He walked up the front porch steps and stopped. They tried to coax him to come in, but he had been trained not to enter the front door, and he would not break this rule.

Someone in our pastor’s family had heard about his training. They went to the back door and called him. Spitfire instantly ran to the back door, walked in, and sat down. They invited him into their living room, but it was near the front door, and he declined. They gave him water and called us to let us know they had him. The whole family was amazed at the level of training Spitfire had learned. The pastor was so impressed that he used Spitfire in his Sunday sermon on obedience.

When we got Spitfire home, Dad didn’t know if he should yell at our dog for disobeying or praise him for his display of manners at the pastor’s home. He decided on the latter. Spitfire’s story traveled fast through our little town of Shafter. He was known as the polite little dog that understood how to follow directions.

Spitfire didn’t ask for forgiveness in words, but that evening he sat close to my dad. It seemed to be a sign of affection and a request for forgiveness. Dad loved Spitfire and forgave him. His place in the family had not been altered. Our love for him had not diminished.

Like Spitfire, I knew what was expected of me, but sometimes chose to do otherwise. My dad taught me to drive on our farm when I was about ten. As I got older, he taught me the rules of the road. I had no problem getting my driver’s license at 16. Mom and Dad then let me drive to the grocery store alone. Right after getting that privilege, I was stopped by a policeman. I had been speeding as I crossed the railroad tracks.

I pulled over to the side of the road like the officer wanted me to. Then I saw my dad right behind him. I thought, “Hallelujah, I’m saved!” But to my horror, Dad just talked to the cop for a moment and then took off again in his pickup, leaving me to face my predicament on my own. The policeman just gave me a warning, and I was grateful. But I knew Dad had seen what happened. When I got home, he waited for me to come and talk to him about it. He listened calmly and patiently. He knew that I had gone through enough anguish with the law and didn’t need more pain from him. He told me that if I’d gotten a ticket, I would have had to take care of it myself. No more was said.

My respect for Dad grew even more because of that incident. I realized his rules were meant for my good. I won’t say I never sped again, but for the most part, my driving reflected his training.

Dad trained Spitfire and me for our gain. Our loving Heavenly Father also trains us for our good. He even gives us a timeless training manual called the Bible to guide us. Paul explains to Timothy in 2 Timothy 3:16-17, “All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness, so that the servant of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work.”

Spitfire walked through the door of Dad’s training and gained a reputation as a well-mannered dog. Dad’s training gained me greater safety on the road. If you submit to your earthly parents and the Lord, who knows what gain their training may bring you?

Look before you leap, for snakes
among sweet flowers do creep.

P
ROVERB

T
exene and her husband, Mac, were headed to the lake to go fishing for crappie. They had chosen two lucky dogs to go with them (out of eight eager candidates). Skipper the Lab, Mac’s constant companion, got picked—as well as Whistle, their nutty two-year-old German shorthair pointer. While Skipper was a veteran fisher-dog, this would be Whistle’s first adventure on the water.

After an awkward spraddle-legged landing into the pontoon boat, Whistle quickly got his sea legs. As Mac took off, Whistle hopped on the seat next to Texene, who grabbed a captain’s hat, turned it sideways, and put it on his head. Face into the wind, Whistle was the perfect picture of a canine sea captain.

Mac anchored the boat at their favorite spot and they dropped their minnow-hooked lines gently over the side. The dogs loved watching the bobbing corks and would bark each time a fish was landed. After pulling in a good haul, Mac headed to a shady spot for lunch. Whistle kicked back next to him, enjoying the breeze.

Suddenly, Whistle’s ears perked up and his head cocked in high alert. He started spinning in his seat like a top. Something incredibly exciting in the water had caught his undivided attention. Without warning Whistle bailed over the side of the boat, swimming like his tail was on fire, focused like a laser beam on the object of his desire—a floating plastic milk jug.

Texene screamed, yelling for Whistle to come back! She wasn’t worried about Whistle’s ability to swim. She was scared about what lay under the surface of that milk jug. All she could think of was “that dreaded trot line.” Trot lines are unattended fishing lines strung across the water with a series of baited hooks dangling down out of sight. They’re usually tied between a couple of trees and milk jugs are attached as a warning to boaters.

Whistle continued to ignore Texene’s calls. Her stomach churned with fear. Her mind played images of Whistle tangled up in those nasty hooks. As for Whistle, it was do or die. He was not about to be bested by some namby-pamby milk jug. With his jaws vise-gripped to the plastic handle, he swam until the line stretched to the breaking point, then snapped him back as if it were a bungee cord. Texene was afraid that if the hooks didn’t snag Whistle first, her crazy dog would drown trying to fetch that milk jug.

As Mac maneuvered the boat alongside, Whistle gave a mighty tug and the trot line snapped. Texene sighed with relief as it drifted away. She and Mac grabbed Whistle and flopped him into the boat. He shook himself off, never letting go of his hard-won prize. He bounced all over the boat, wanting to play with that jug, and clueless how close he had come to being hooked into a worst-case scenario.

All Whistle knew was that he loved milk jugs. He had played with those cheap and plentiful toys ever since he was a puppy. He just didn’t know what Texene knew—that the jug floating on the lake was attached to a very dangerous set of hooks hidden from sight. After Whistle leaped before he looked, he still had a choice. He could’ve listened to Texene and come back to the safety of the boat. But instead he let his desires short-circuit his connection to his master as he swam headfirst toward danger.

We can take a holier-than-thou stance about how a dumb dog risked his life for a milk jug. But how often do we beings of higher intelligence leap before we look and get hooked going after milk jugs of our own design?

This happened to no less a man of God than the biblical King David. He was out for a leisurely nighttime stroll when he spied something that focused his eyes like a laser beam and caused him to throw caution to the wind: a gorgeous woman taking a bath.

God must have been shouting in His still, small voice, “No, David! Come back!” But David didn’t listen. He only saw what was above the water’s surface—a beautiful woman. He kept swimming toward the object of his desire, oblivious of the hooks that lurked below the bath water…like the fact that Bathsheba was married to another man.

David loved beautiful women—just like Whistle loved milk jugs. And just like Whistle, David ignored his Master and got snagged. He dragged Bathsheba into an affair, and she got pregnant. Hooked and re-hooked, David was pulled down deeper and deeper into the murky depths of sin. He sank as low as having Bathsheba’s husband killed to cover up his guilt. But none of this was hidden from God’s sight. God sent the prophet Nathan to confront David with his wrongdoing and proclaim the grave consequences of David being hooked by his lust and desire.

Nathan told David, “This is what the L
ORD
says: ‘Out of your own household I am going to bring calamity on you. Before your very eyes I will take your wives and give them to one who is close to you, and he will sleep with your wives in broad daylight. You did it in secret, but I will do this thing in broad daylight before all Israel’” (2 Samuel 12:11-12).

As if that wasn’t rough enough, Nathan had more bad news for David: “Because by doing this you have shown utter contempt for the L
ORD
, the son born to you will die” (2 Samuel 12:14).

All this calamity came upon David because he obeyed his passions instead of his Master. David knew adultery, lying, and murder were wrong. But he cast off all caution because he wanted that alluring lady as badly as Whistle wanted that milk jug. Texene knew about the hooks beneath the surface—and so did God.

Truth be told, we all have things that tempt us to leap before we look—things we lust for so much we don’t care what lies beneath the surface. We all have things that make us deaf and blind to God’s Word.

Before you jump out of the boat or veer off the path of righteousness to pursue the object of your desire, wait and check with your Master first. Look in the Word. Pray. Meditate. Listen to His still small voice calling to you.

Whatever your plastic milk jug is—love of money, sex, drugs, that brand new BMW, or even a box of chocolates—look to God before you leap!