We’ve had our share of dogs during the years: Fido, Butch, Babs, Sammy, Old Dog, Ursinha, Sheba, and Marly, and Neguinho were their names. In here now laying, at our feet and sometimes in our bed are, Branquinho, Cookie, and White. That's twelve—three in our stateside years and nine here in Brazil. Dogs are more plentiful here because there is no Humane Society to kill them. Oops.
Anyway, I just heard one of our neighbors beating the buggers out of his dog. It seems to happen about once a week. You hear the dog screaming and would love to sock the neighbor in the kisser. However, we can never catch the person in the act. By the time we realize that it is "beat the dog" day, we can't get to the gate fast enough to discover precisely where the massacre is taking place. It's a frustrating sensation.
Why is it that I feel so strongly about dog beatings, and I don't care as much about people going to hell? I see a stray dog and always feel bad. I see a street person and tend to be like the priest or the Levite in the good Samaritan story.
Jesus used that story to show us how we should treat our neighbors. Even though the Samaritans were a hated people and the religious leaders should have been on the rescue squad, only the Samaritan gave his all to care for the beaten man.
What does this have to do with beating a dog? Not much, except that I should be ready to see what is going on in our neighbor’s life. And in fact, that is what happened in our story just now.
Dawn went to see what was going on concerning these timely beatings. Come to find out, the dog was eating the bumper of the neighbor's new car. So Dawn gave our neighbor a few tips in dog care, and that was it. We'll see what this leads us to. Whatever the case may be, we’ve made a new friendly contact.
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