Footprints in the Bland
A Christian Crassic retold:
Man out for a pleasant walk along the beach, faithful dog by his side, having a bit of a chit-chat. Man expresses some concern about the difficulties he envisages up ahead. "No worries," barks dog, "I'll be here." Rough patches come as foreseen. Rougher than expected, disheartening. Somehow comes through. At some point turning around, man surveys the rough patch, and notices only one set of footprints. Turning to old faithful, accusatory: "Where were you? You promised?" "Oh, but that's where I was carrying you", wags Fido.
So much for the re-tailing.
Man didn't notice being carried? Truth is probably rather that he did all the hard work himself with dog frolicking off in the waves. His brain is just too addled by the recent effort to be able to think straight. Here's the catch of course: we know man. Know he doesn't have a dog, but keeps muttering to himself from time to time, dragging an empty leash. So who does show up to take the credit? Why, your local friendly sheepdog, of course. Sometimes known to wear a collar to ...assist the mistaken identity.
Oh. Whatever of my disgust shines through here, know that it isn't directed at the man who I know has a hard enough time of it as it is.
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