Lab on the Run

Yesterday Syrah got out again.

She has done this three times since she came to live with us. Out the front door, or out the garage, and she's gone like a shot. She thinks it's a big game: running down, running back, stopping to look at you, then tearing away again, as you follow her farther and farther down the street. Each time, it's been a fifteen minute saga of me hollering, her looking at me in that goofy dog way, and then effectively saying "Play with me some more!"

Finally, myself or a very helpful neighbor corrals her, I put on her collar, and then we walk home, grumbling all the away about the dog and why did I ever think of getting one and this will be the last time this happens...

Which is all very fascinating, of course - until I point the finger at myself.

How many times has God given me something, whether a gift, or answer to prayer, or a freedom - and rather than be respectful or grateful or self controlled, I go tearing off with it down the road, looking back, shouting "Thank you! - It's mine!" as I continue to run -right into a building, or a hole, or a sin, or something else bad.

And then God comes, looks at me, picks me up, and puts me back in the fence, to try another day.

The dog simply has no training. What's my excuse?