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An animal lover is taught a lesson in forgiveness by the abused pooch he takes into his home.
I was so mad I couldn’t even pray. I didn’t want to pray. I wanted to be as mad as I could get.
Now, here I was, parked back at his junkyard, Bull Dog by my side. The burly man sauntered up to my truck. I rolled down the passenger-side window. “Oh, you still got my dog!” he said.
“That’s right,” I said, nodding. “Now he’s my dog.” Bull Dog, seated on his haunches next to me, sniffed the air.
The man began telling me about the old Plymouth I was interested in. He rested his big hand on the open window frame. Bull Dog locked his eyes on it, and leaned forward. Oh, he’s gonna let him have it! I thought, waiting for Bull Dog to launch. I oughta let him get his due, let him have a piece of this old boy.
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I could hardly believe what happened next. Gently, forgivingly, Bull Dog inclined his head and licked his abuser’s hand.
Suddenly I remembered the story of Joseph in the Bible. He was sold into slavery by his brothers, yet he forgave them without hesitation. All right, Lord, I said to myself. I think I understand. If Bull Dog could pardon this man, then I could too.
Aren’t we meant to love and not hate, to forgive and not hold a grudge? Who knew it was a lesson I would learn from a junkyard dog with a heart as big as Texas?
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