Dogs and I have always had a great relationship. Ever since I was knee high to a grasshopper, I've loved the canine species and among the great selection of dogs that inhabited the family home over they years, I can honestly say that I loved every one of them. Some were quite large, like Bruce I the black Labrador, Bruce II the Golden Labrador and Kim I, the Airedale, others were medium such as Crusoe the Spaniel and Kim II, the Alsatian, while a few never grew to any height at all and these included Snoopy I, Snoopy II and Patch, all Jack Russells. And while there was a certain lack of originality in our choice of names down the years, there was no shortage of affection and care for the dogs by their adoptive owners. Indeed, of all the canines that lived at home, only the very last one, Patch, can truly claim to have been born into the family and even he entered this world in the comfort of a neighbour's old barn. Yes, I certainly had a great love for dogs and have always been keen to find the odd few extra tidbits for them when dinner is over or when we are out shopping. Which makes my next story seem a bit strange. Some years ago, not a long time after having qualified to drive, but long enough not to have any strange red letters in the windows, I was rushing to a friend's house and had just come over a little rise in the road that was too small to be called a hill, when a little object with legs appeared in my peripheral vision, darting from the right side of the road. I had no time to think, nor had the hairy, four legged pedestrian and before I could shout, 'Get out of the way, you mutt, I'm going to hit you,' I hit him. Several visions, mostly nightmares, fell before my eyes, of a little dog adorning the badge of my car or clinging on to the radiator grille or maybe zooming up past the windscreen and over my head on his way to a sudden stop, but none of these happened. For when I glanced in the mirror, some distance behind I could see a little creature spinning on his back like a top with his legs in the air, before coming to rest and appearing to move slowly to the verge. And that's where I made my mistake for I didn't stop to check if he was OK. I simply drove on so all these years later I still don't know whether he survived his brush with my undercarriage and I really wish I had stopped.
But I had learned my lesson. For within weeks, another, much larger sheepdog suddenly appeared in my peripheral vision, this time emerging from the left and oblivious to the Green Cross Code. It was a built up area on the outskirts of town, I was travelling at no more than twenty five miles per hour in reasonably busy, but moving traffic and I had plenty of time to shout, 'Get out of the way you mutt, I'm going to hit you. Don't you know the rules of the road?' I even had time to sound the horn, but on he ploughed and the dull thud was all too painful. I stopped within inches, got out of the car and there he was, a beautiful young dog with all his life before him but now most of it behind him. The owner was distressed, not only because of her pet lying there in the last throws of life, but also realising that he hadn't been under her control at the time and worried about any possible damage to the vehicle. I had no such worries, for seeing the anxiety etched on her brow and the victim clinging to survival was enough to remind me of the sadness that was before me. The vet knew immediately that there was no hope and made the end as painless as possible and we cradled the dog as he slept away, moving him to the footpath to allow traffic to pass. I had unintentionally killed that young animal, though I never knew him, but I reckon he would have made a great friend.
And I had learned my lesson. For just a couple of years ago, quite close to home, on a dark, windy, winter night and blinded by oncoming headlights, I didn't even see the dog in my peripheral vision as he emerged from the left verge to bark at another car. Evidently he hadn't seen me either but we both heard the huge thud. Since there was too much traffic around, I quickly made the half mile journey home, told wife the whole scenario and together we immediately returned to the scene. As we knocked on the front door, ready to offer our apology and sympathies to the bereaved household, who should come waddling, sheepishly around the corner only the supposedly recently deceased. At which point his owner shouted something at him that I won't record and informed us not to worry as this was a regular occurrence.
But I had learned my lesson. And here it is. When something needs to be dealt with, there and then, just do it, don't put it off. Not like Jonah, who tried to run away from God's call or King Agrippa who was 'almost persuaded.' Not like the Israelites, who through disobedience, lingered in the desert for forty years and only ever saw the promised land from afar. And not like so many people you've seen who always knew the path to the promised land but just never got round to walking along it. Yes, and not like those who saw the door in front of them but never actually tired the handle to see if it was open or locked. So, if God is calling you, if He is challenging you, or if He is convicting you to take the first step or even the next step, start walking and see where the path leads. And Paul reminds me in Acts 'You killed the author of life, but God raised him from the dead.' For while I wasn't personally at the cross, lest I forget, my sin killed the Son of God, but now I know Him and He is more than a great friend.
