One obscure morning, I was seething while working deep inside my pumpkin patch, pruning tangled, unproductive vines. I needed to make room for some new growth. But mostly, I needed to vent. I was looking over and under leaves for signs of bug devastation when, out of the corner of my crossed eye, I noticed my loathsome neighbor heading down my lane. It was Old Abe, such a critical thinker, a real downer. I strive to avoid him at all costs. I crouched as low as possible, dropped my hoe spade-end down, and sneaked in through the back door, dragging a stained repute close behind. Safe for now! Or so I thought. Then a knock at my door!! I was wrong…he found me. He had seen me crouching under an open window. He had heard my muse. I'm not sure, but for some funky reason, I felt compelled to let him in, so I did.

“Come on in, Abe. I thought you'd drop by today. It’s been too long.”

        My dog, Jehu, heeded the tension by panting and strutting right up to Old Abe as if he knew him, or a familiar smell on him. He sniffed up and down one leg and then around the other; his claws scraping against the oak floor screeched like nails on a chalkboard. He almost cavorted into a junkyard dog state, slinging snot and slobber everywhere, shaking his head violently, almost like he was possessed. But he calmed, sitting quietly at Old Abe’s feet. I didn’t understand any of it.  “That’s a good dog. Good Jehu. You’re my buddy.” With that said, Old Abe patted Jehu ever so gently on his forehead. “Have a seat, Abe. Let’s talk.”  Actually, it was the last thing on my list for that day. Abe seated himself in my favorite chair at the kitchen table. Jehu sat right beside him, at attention.

      Suddenly, out of nowhere, I startled Abe and myself by the venom I spewed. “Abe, you’re a thorn in my side and a stick in my eye.” Now, I’m a little crude when it comes to sensible talk, especially when it’s conversation I rue. Old Abe sat there quietly and clung white-knuckled to the sides of my chair, never once coming unglued, never uttering a word or cursing under his breath. I accused him of being … you know, breathing my air and taking up space. I even named names. I shouldn’t have, but I did. I unloaded the big guns, recalling every iniquity I could conjure up, everything I had seen Abe do or say. I stated, “There! That’s you to a T! You’ve just turned my pleasant day into a loathsome nightmare, so turn or burn, you brute beast!” I continued, “Well, I’m done. I’ve said my all. So, I walked out of the kitchen, scratching my head. All I really wanted was my cold tea from the next room and to sit and reset my internal Chi. But, feeling a twinge of guilt, I glanced back at the old man and noticed his blank expression reflected in my toaster. Abe sat there, patting Jehu, and Jehu leering up at Abe with those big, jovial Rottweiler eyes, so discerning, so inclined.

       While I rested, a surreal flash of condemnation pricked my conscience. I was physically weakened and mentally drained from everything that just went down. Oh, how hate riled within me. I don’t know exactly what happened. I just lost it. A funny thing though, I felt like a millstone had been lifted off my neck. However, I was only halfway home. A still small voice shattered any peace that resided within me. A nudge, an urge to repent, kept tugging at my spirit… so, I prayed for a release and repented of my willful pride. What had I done? Was it in me to be like Old Abe, the same old man who sat in my chair, not saying a word? Had I been the only one wronged in this whole situation of life and its urgencies? So, I scratched my head, thinking, maybe I was wrong! At any rate, I’ll go back into the kitchen and apologize to Abe. After all, everyone's a little neurotic. I’m only making this day hard by latching onto hate.

      As I stepped into the kitchen, I pillared… Abe was gone! Only his shoes and coat hung off the back of my chair. Stunned!! I cried, “Jehu, what have you done? My dog, you’ve eaten Old Abe! All of him! That poor old man, my good friend and generous neighbor, He’s gone.” Why you even licked up all his blood…aah, but still, that’s a bad dog! You let him pet you and treat you as your Master, you wicked dog!” I dropped to my knees on the cold oak floor with a bone-to-wood thud. I pulled my knees into my chest, morphing into a crumpled-up human ball of sour puss. As I prayed, I transformed into the man God wanted me to be. Then I sat up, totally restored. A still, small voice spoke, “Now you have a contrite spirit.” I pondered:

      What is the meaning? Is this what happens when one has it out with themselves? A mere mortal seeking God Almighty, then setting the record straight, putting their house in order? I sprang to my feet, scratched my ear as I walked over to where Old Abe had sat not more than an hour ago. I gathered my shoes and coat, tossing them into the corner of the stairs as always; some habits are inbred. In reflection, “I don’t miss Old Abe… Jehu, where did you get that bone?”