Death of a Dog

My dog and I have a curious relationship. First of all, she was supposed to be a gerbil. Gerbils are small, easy to care for, don't have to be let out to do their business, and die after a couple of years. However, gerbils also escape and eat through your refrigerator wiring, and dogs don't. We have had the dog for 9 years now. She has been an expense from the beginning. We had to build a fence around the yard to keep her penned. She needed shots and vet visits. When we vacationed she had to be watched, which meant paying a sitter. Because of her naughtiness running through wet cement in the new subdivision, not once but twice in the same day, she is now an indoor dog. She lies in the doorways and refuses to move when I walk through. She wanders through the house at night and wakes me. Most irritatingly, she drops dog hair all over the house and causes me extra work. I ask the dog nearly every day to die. Not in a mean way. I don't yell at her or beat her. I just suggest that this would be a nice day to die. She often looks away from me when I make that suggestion. She also shadows me around the house wanting to know what I am doing. She begs for my company, longs for my approval, and tries to please me. I laugh at her behavior, pat her head, and tell her that I love her. But I still ask her to die. Her death is the only way I can get rid of her dog hair, her jaunts to the neighbors' trash, her 3 A.M. wakings. Death is the only solution for her naughtiness. I think the dog is here to remind me of myself. I try so hard to please my Master, but He asks me daily to die. And I look away. I dig through the neighbors' trash, drop some hair on the polished floor of His Mansion, and refuse to move from my ruinous rut. I shadow Him as best I can, lie in His doorway, listen for His voice in the night. I beg for pats on the head, a look of love in His eyes, but I can't leave behind the dogginess of my life. I am a dog, and nothing I do can change that. But each day I die a little more, and each day I come closer to living.