Our daughter's dogs are living with us for a few weeks, and they are hilarious: they prance, they scuffle together, they leap from floor to furniture and back to floor in a whirlwind of puppy energy. But because they are not completely potty trained, they spend the predominance of their time in their cages.
I would die if confined to a metal crate hours at a time each day. And I would certainly fight each time someone directed me back into my cage. But all I have to do is rattle the top of the doggy treat dish, and our daughter's pups race into their cages, tails wagging. They do this for one small piece of kibble.
It makes me wonder--What freedoms do I give away for very little? When I allow myself to gossip, I'm falling for kibble. When I have that extra brownie instead of resisting, I'm choosing kibble over health. And when I hear the internal voice of criticism, and listen to it instead of God's voice, I'm eating from a dog bowl instead of dining at the banquet hall with my King.
Do you fall for kibble instead of the real thing? I'd love to hear your stories.
I would die if confined to a metal crate hours at a time each day. And I would certainly fight each time someone directed me back into my cage. But all I have to do is rattle the top of the doggy treat dish, and our daughter's pups race into their cages, tails wagging. They do this for one small piece of kibble.
It makes me wonder--What freedoms do I give away for very little? When I allow myself to gossip, I'm falling for kibble. When I have that extra brownie instead of resisting, I'm choosing kibble over health. And when I hear the internal voice of criticism, and listen to it instead of God's voice, I'm eating from a dog bowl instead of dining at the banquet hall with my King.
Do you fall for kibble instead of the real thing? I'd love to hear your stories.