My Dog

He ran with the wrong crowd.
And shared their fleas and demise—




[2col1]MY dog was gone, —big old lovable Buff. He looked like Lassie, the big sweet English Collie. His food dish was full; he did not come home at night. We called. We whistled. We hunted.

Next day on the school bus I asked, “Have any of you seen a big old yellow collie?” “Yup,” said one of the boys, “we shot one yesterday.” My eyes stung with tears, but I didn’t let him see them. I wanted my dad to go down and whip their dad, but he didn’t. Dad said, “It’s a rancher’s right. They have sheep and Buff was running with a pack of dogs —assumed to be sheep-killing dogs.”

[endcol] [2col2]This is what happens when you run with the wrong bunch. You find yourself doing what they do —even when it is wrong. “Every- body’s doing it.” You find yourself going where they go —knowing you should not be there. “Everyone’s going.” You find yourself talking like they talk; you know better. And people judge you by the company you keep. “Do not be deceived: “Evil company corrupts good habits”(1Cor.15:33) No doubt about it. Always has; always will.

Look what happened to ole Buff—assumed guilty and shot. My heart hurt—Buff was dead—once again Dad taught me about life.[endcol] [clearcol]

Bible Comments, 5, a publication by Joe Fitch originally intended for distribution among small congregations in Texas.
Used here by kind permission. —