Gibby in the Garbage

One of my favourite sayings is "Grace is for Mamas too." It's also for dogs.

Here's the thing - It's very, very hard to show my dog grace when he gets into the garbage. I let him stay upstairs and trusted that he wouldn't make a mess, when I was leaving the house for just 30 minutes. He seemed tired and lethargic. I thought at worse he'd jump up on the couch and steal a nap on it. WRONG.

I came home and the stench hit me. My house smelled like the dump. I ran up the stairs and there he was, laying on the the area rug in the living room. His brow furrowed over his big brown eyes. He gave his tail a slight wag, with his ears hung back and his head ducked down. The pathetic "I'm so sorry, I was so so bad" whimper escaped his throat as I drew a sharp breath. He knew he was in it deep.

Garbage is gross. Garbage on your kitchen floor is worse. Even worse than that is garbage on your sunroom floor on a hot day. At least it was papers and some scrapings from the previous night's dinner. I shudder when I think of the time he found some raw chicken breast in the garbage and left them on the floor of the boys' playroom.

It's also hard to remain calm when you have a 19 month old boy who wants to inspect every single piece of trash on the floor. He wants to help pick it up. He points to the carnage and says "uh-oh". Then he innocently tramps through the mess and I can feel the panic and the anger in me rise. I am trying so bloody hard no to explode.

Gibson; poor sweet Gibson gets the brunt in my frustration. I yell at him. I rage at him. I want to kick his furry butt out the door. Instead I open the gate and he takes the walk of shame to the basement. My boys are looking at me, wide-eyed and full of concern. "I'm sorry Gibson got the trash Mommy" says Bear.

I clean up the mess, with the help of my boys. They sit on the couch engrossed in a DVD as I disinfect the kitchen. Then I open the gate and whistle for Gibson. It takes a few times until he slowly makes his way up the stair and flops down in the middle of the living room. I sit next to him and he politely wags his tail.

"I'm sorry Gibson". I say. "I'm sorry I yelled at you." He looks up and licks my hand which means "I'm sorry, and I forgive you."

I don't know what it is about life that makes it so hard to keep my temper in check. I sometimes feel like I have set this impossible ideal for myself. I feel like a complete failure every time I am human and lose it. Again, I find myself thankful for the grace that God has for me.