My dog, The Bodacious Miss Maria Consuelo Thibodeaux Jones, is equal parts abject fear and Polyanna optimism. She's sitting at my feet right now hoping to eat the crumbs from my table. I am devouring some chicken while I sit and type. Admittedly, she stands a good chance of walking away with a full belly as typing and chicken eating are not the best combination of things with which to hone your multi-tasking skills. She has been sitting quietly as I read my normal blogs and news feeds. She doesn't mind at all when I yell that the computer. Even when I pound my desk yell things like, "Aw, come on! Nobody is that stupid!" she pretends not to notice. However, don't take a load of clothes out of the dryer or hold some mail in your hand and expect her to get within 10 feet of you.
Before you ask, no she was never beaten with clean clothes and I have never tortured her with mail. She's just goofy. She has her idiosyncratic behaviors and for the most part they amuse me. She has this goofy walking cadence she falls into when she's trying to be invisible and walk away from me and whatever it is I am carrying that terrifies her. She looks like a wind-up doll whose gears have slipped. She moves both legs on one side at the same time. It causes her to waddle a bit but mostly it makes her look like she's drunk and trying to pass a field sobriety test without looking at the officer administering it. I am fairly certain she thinks if she just minces by like that in that weird pacing gait and doesn't look me in the eye, I can't see her.
She was cracking me up today while I watched her mince by and I found myself wondering what was misfiring in her brain. Chet the Wonder Dog never had a moment's concern about his welfare with me. At 16 if I turned on the treadmill, he'd try to climb on with me because where I was, he wanted to be also. Thibodeaux may enjoy my company while she's hoping for chicken, but she's just as likely to settle into a bed in another room of the house as to sit at my feet. If I turn the treadmill on while she's in the room, she won't be there for long. Such different personalities.
It was difficult while Chet was alive to manage those differences. Chet loved to play fetch. For Thib a thrown ball is an invitation to play keep away. Chet took great pleasure in playing tug of war and growling the entire time he tugged and pulled. Thibby thinks the game is too serious if she hears a growl and while she will shake the rope in her mouth, if I try to tug it she releases it immediately. I miss Chet desperately and I am trying my best to find all the ways to connect with Thibby that I can. Then it dawned on me. I had trouble managing two vastly different personality types and look how many God has to contend with!
Seriously. I know He is intimately familiar with all of our personalities because He is our creator. But really, think about it. What would you do if you had millions and millions of personality types to shape, train and mold if you were not the Almighty Sovereign God? If you had to depend on your created beings to choose you, how would you control the ensuing chaos?
Psalm 115:3 But our God is in His heaven and He does what He pleases.
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