In 2010, I adopted a two-year-old German Shepherd, and I named him Benedict. There was a man of German descent on Peter’s pontifical seat, and I was in seminary: it all seemed very clever. As usual, the Holy Spirit took the joke a step further — into truth.
When we go to a cabin in the mountains, I take Ben out for his morning jaunt in the pasture, and I enjoy a moment of quiet in the dull but promising morning light while he runs and sniffs and terrifies the local ponies. The last time I took him, he ran around a bit and pranced and sniffed, and then he did something that he’d never done before.
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