During the autumn my body goes into the valley of fatigue and my mind into a state of torpor. This lackadaisical state of being will right itself with the first serious signs of winter, infusing my body and being with new found vigor. Until then impromptu naps are common. On Tuesday night I was watching The Cosmos by Carl Sagan and drifted into a blissful nap punctuated by snores that woke me occasionally. My sleep was of an appreciable duration, ending when Skittles dashed to the davenport, perched upon the backrest and peered through the window into the evening blackness. Beagle radar had detected that Lois was home from work! The car was entering the garage. I went back to sleep until my beloved wife entered via the front door.
"Uh-oh! Uh-oh! What's this? What have you done, Skittles?"
I squinted at Lois and acknowledged her presence. Her exclamation must be about a torn sock or a new bite mark on one of our shoes. Lois picked up Skittles' new craft and brought it into my view.
My eyes widened at the gash in the upper region of my beloved steel-toed work boots! I've had those boots for thirty-six years. Thirty-six bloomin' years! Paid seventy dollars back then. Those boots were in the copper mine; they protected my feet as I worked in the woods with a chainsaw. They had the lug soles and higher heels; Logger's boots they were.
An amalgam of emotions washed over me from grief to anger and back to grief as I tenderly fingered the mortal wound in my boot. I flashed back to anger and lashed out at Skittles, who had no idea why Daddy was yelling. Her head bowed and her tail sagged and she looked up with woebegone eyes that melted my anger. I felt rotten for my outburst, but even Lois sympathized at this attack on my footwear.
It took about an hour before I could forgive Skittles. I thought about last fall when I was repairing the front porch trim and I had to go back to the basement and saw another piece on my table saw because the piece did not fit.. The new piece fit perfectly. Common sense told me to drill pilot holes for the nails since the piece was pine and would split easily. I decided to skip the drilling and indeed the piece split and I ripped it out of the nails and flung it and although it was inamate I pronounced it to be the offspring of a bitch.
Later on guilt settled in and I realized that I had over-reacted and spewed some unclean language. I asked God to forgive me. (God has had to forgive me many times since.)
An analogy spun in my mind. God loved me enough to forgive my profanity and he must love me at least as much as I love this mischievous beagle with pleading eyes. I bade her to light upon my recliner and sit with me. She did this tentatively. I caressed her and forgave her, then apologizing for yelling at her.I admonished her to never ruin any of our possessions again. Of course, Skittles had no idea what I was talking about. She was only basking in my tone of love and forgiveness. She licked my face, jumped out of my recliner and went about playing with her toys.
I have coined a term that we use in our household for beagle sins. I call it beaglearity.
