Biscuit Friday ~ It's a Good Thing He's Cute
Because he really is very bad.
On the first day of school, I let Biscuit out into our fenced backyard. When it was time for LG and me to leave for school, I went to let him back in. He was gone. We had to leave, so I walked LG to school (less than 10 minutes, across the street and up the hill), and assured her that he would probably be home by the time I got back. I even planned to call the school and get a message to her that he had returned safely, so she wouldn't worry.
I arrived back home, and no Biscuit. But there was a voicemail message. "My name is Jack Ho and I'm calling to let you know that Biscuit is at school . . . oh, wait, someone's here claiming him . . . " Click. I hoped and assumed that "school" meant LG's school, but I could not imagine who was "claiming" him, unless it was LG -- although I secretly hoped he was being dognapped (because he's bad, very bad). I got a leash and a treat and went out the door. Mind you, I have WTF Disease and one trip to the school per morning pretty much kicks my ass, but because my dog had gone to school and retrieving him seemed like the right thing to do, I set out for my second trip. Just as I was crossing the street, I saw Biscuit leading our backyard neighbor down the sidewalk toward our house. Thankfully, the neighbor had claimed him and hooked a belt to Biscuit's collar, walking him home. And the neighbor, Bill, had seen LG and told her what was happening, so she wouldn't be worried.
When LG returned home that day, she told me how Biscuit was the talk of the school. It seems while he was in the yard, he had seen and heard some groups of children heading to school, and had elected to leap the fence and join them. Once there, he walked right into the building with all the kids, and made himself at home. They said he was very friendly to adults and children alike, and sniffed several rooms on his way to his final destination : the guidance counselor's office. LG was quite a celebrity that morning -- the girl whose dog came in to see Mr. G. and get counseling.
You might say, "But, Susie, he's not bad . . . that's cute . . . he just wanted to be with the kids . . ." Fine. How about THIS:
My church celebrates "the Lord's Supper," communion, on the first Sunday of each month. On the Monday following that Sunday, the pastor and one church elder go out to the residences of the "shut-ins" of the congregation, delivering home communion. Rev. Dr. Fruity has a nifty little leather case just for this occasion, with a tiny silver plate for the bread, and teeny glasses for the grape juice. Last Monday, Rev. Dr. Fruity was in our area, doing home communions, and she called and asked if I'd like her to stop in and give me communion. I was happy to have the opportunity. (I must state here that I am NOT a "shut-in," thankfully; I can and do go out, not as much as I used to or hope to, but I do. I am more of a "shut-up," meaning that speaking is sometimes difficult for me, and I often stay home from church rather than attempt talking to people, especially when all I have to say is "Yes, still sick; no, don't know what it is." So. Not shut-in; just shut-up.) Now, where was I? Ah, yes . . .
Rev. Dr. Fruity, and an elder, and Jif, LG and I, are all seated around the table on our deck. Rev. Dr. Fruity has placed the silver plate of bread cubes and the teeny glasses of juice on the table. We all close our eyes and hear Rev. Dr. Fruity pray over the communion.
We also hear, in rapid succession, rustle . . . clatter! . . . SNARF! . . . LG yelling, "BISCUIT!!!!" . . . and the unmistakeable sound of a larcenous canine running away from the scene of a most sinister crime.
Yea. He stole and consumed the Holy Communion bread.
Oh, Biscuit. To paraphrase one of my favorite bumper stickers, Jesus loves you; everyone else thinks you're a VBD.