Boxer Rebellion
His name was Buckshot. He was my sister & brother-in-law's dog without a home, due to the arrival of my nephew Caleb, so my dad decided to take him in. By take him in, I mean that he allowed Buckshot to live in our backyard.
You see, my dad's old school...no animals in the house, besides us & everybody abides by the rules...even if & especially if you happen to be a dog. That means no digging, excessive barking & definitely no leaving the confines of the yard. PERIOD.
At first it seemed to be a pretty square deal for ol' Buck & all the others that have occupied that little stretch behind 529 Stephens Ave, but lately I've begun to wonder. As he aged it certainly got easier, but what about those early years? What about those once puppy synapses that carried thoughts of wonder of the open field & rolling in clover or treeing a squirrel or terrorizing a cat?
I'm left wondering just how long it takes for dreams to die? How long is it for us to become so engrossed by our own safety, found in the familiarity of our surroundings, that any & all fleeting screams of The Call are no longer & don't even amount to a whisper?
I wonder this, because I recently invoked the remembrence of trying to walk Buck one time around the neighborhood. I put on the leash & opened the gate & thought that that would be that. Wrong!
Dad had so instilled in him the worth of staying within the yard, that this once proud boxer, a beautiful specimen of a dog, wouldn't/couldn't walk outside of the fence. I'd lift him to his feet with both hands, trying to reassure him all the while that it's ok, only to watch him flop to his belly and refuse to move. I'd even try giving his collar a tug w/the leash, in hopes that he'd rise & we'd be on our way, but no. He was done before we even started.
I feel The Call. I treasure it. Safety & familiarity only cripple it & would kill it if followed to their ends.
I can not.
He's so much bigger out here in the open field. With fresh grass stains of faith on my knees I roll in the clover & cherish the sweetness of the arouma that is His presence. I've never felt so alive.
I can't beg you enough to leave the yard. To leave behind whatever or whoever it is that confines, wrongly conforms or constricts & will ultimately kill your dream from The Call. Be a faithful puppy & dream...daring to truly live.
You see, my dad's old school...no animals in the house, besides us & everybody abides by the rules...even if & especially if you happen to be a dog. That means no digging, excessive barking & definitely no leaving the confines of the yard. PERIOD.
At first it seemed to be a pretty square deal for ol' Buck & all the others that have occupied that little stretch behind 529 Stephens Ave, but lately I've begun to wonder. As he aged it certainly got easier, but what about those early years? What about those once puppy synapses that carried thoughts of wonder of the open field & rolling in clover or treeing a squirrel or terrorizing a cat?
I'm left wondering just how long it takes for dreams to die? How long is it for us to become so engrossed by our own safety, found in the familiarity of our surroundings, that any & all fleeting screams of The Call are no longer & don't even amount to a whisper?
I wonder this, because I recently invoked the remembrence of trying to walk Buck one time around the neighborhood. I put on the leash & opened the gate & thought that that would be that. Wrong!
Dad had so instilled in him the worth of staying within the yard, that this once proud boxer, a beautiful specimen of a dog, wouldn't/couldn't walk outside of the fence. I'd lift him to his feet with both hands, trying to reassure him all the while that it's ok, only to watch him flop to his belly and refuse to move. I'd even try giving his collar a tug w/the leash, in hopes that he'd rise & we'd be on our way, but no. He was done before we even started.
I feel The Call. I treasure it. Safety & familiarity only cripple it & would kill it if followed to their ends.
I can not.
He's so much bigger out here in the open field. With fresh grass stains of faith on my knees I roll in the clover & cherish the sweetness of the arouma that is His presence. I've never felt so alive.
I can't beg you enough to leave the yard. To leave behind whatever or whoever it is that confines, wrongly conforms or constricts & will ultimately kill your dream from The Call. Be a faithful puppy & dream...daring to truly live.
posted by lee at 9:20 AM
3 Comments:
Good words Bro.
the one thing we fail to instill into baby believers is the desire to run free...away from the saftey of the herd, away from the comfort of the roof.
Our great God then becomes part of our life (rather than us becomeing part of His), makes things better, better family, better job, 2.2 kids with a pickett fence. The Christian dream. Success and comfort.
nothing overpowering about services, nothing that inspires us to take the chance. just..."we will see you next Sunday"...same bat time.
But, we are officially sanctioned by the Government. (along with every other religion) so at least we are legal and can worship unhindered. and after all, we are political now. yep...a regular force to be reconed with.
Damn you Constantine. Damn you.
AWESOME, that's great man!
I'm glad I found your blog, I'll be back for more.
Layla
Post a Comment
<< Home