He was (judging from his parents’ devotion and the genes he has bequeathed to his grandchildren) a lovable child. His dog thought so. He followed my father everywhere–so much so that he had to be tied to a stake when dad went to dog unfriendly places.
Church for instance: old-style pre-air conditioned southern baptist. It was warm and the windows and doors were open to let in the breeze.
But they let in more than that–that old dog broke his chains and bounded across town to find his boy in the pews…day dreaming, I imagine. Until the commotion started.
My father (or maybe it was my grandfather–the real story teller) said the hound came running down the aisles, jumping over pews to get to his boy.
Psalm 23 says,
Surely goodness and mercy will follow me…
Like my father’s dog. Like God’s unending love.