The puppy has been with us for more than a year, and has aged me two years, which in dog time is . . . nearly 10 years? Seems like 20.

In reality, she’s a sweet girl . . . but you know how children are. (There are no bad pets, just bad pet owners.) The other morning when she got up and just couldn’t go back to sleep, it was too early for me. Since I’m not a dairy farmer, I usually sleep past 4 a.m.

For a few moments, I really wanted to . . . I don’t know. Speak her language and “ruff” her up? Lock her outside? It’s just the puppy in her and after all, puppies are only human. Like us.

It was probably the third cup of coffee and almost 5 a.m. when I wondered, “How many times did my mom want to kill me?” And not just when I was small and couldn’t sleep. I mean when I was grown too . . . and was supposed “to know better.”

She never did either kill me or, I’m sure, want to. But think about the times you must have exasperated your mom, made her wonder if childbirth was worth the pain and trouble after all. “You are getting on my last nerve!”

Dogs mature so much faster than we do. They walk right out of the chute. You can potty train one in a couple of months. They talk back sometimes, but you won’t see one lying about his homework . . . even though they have perfected the “Who? ME?!” face.

God bless good moms who model patience and an identity in Christ, who show us what love and faithfulness look like, who not only love the unlovable . . . but even wash the socks and buy new baseball bats and make biscuits for the unlovable.

They say a dog is a man’s best friend. That’s almost true . . .

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