It was a very bad day.
One that felt like being run over by a bus — and then having it back up.
My nose hurt. My feet hurt. At sunrise, I’d crammed my wide feet into pointy-toe shoes and stuffed my love handles into a dressy black suit.
No wonder I was short of breath.
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All day, I had traipsed around on concrete floors and then stood in the sun on hot asphalt while my fresh facial scar grilled to well-done. To top it off, our television camera had been missing. When I finally found it, the silly piece of equipment was out of sorts. I could understand.
Like I said, it was very bad day.
On the drive home, I replayed the day and thought how good it had been — until I got out of bed. From there, it had been a bus headed downhill.
Yes, it felt like a very bad day.
At home, our old dog Roscoe, on the other hand, was having a very good day. He was stretched out on the garage floor, his good ear to the cool cement.
Quiet. Peaceful. Only his snoring broke the solitude.
“What was that?” I said to myself as I sped into the dark garage. “Guess I’d better back up.”
So I pulled forward.
While I gathered my things out of the car, I heard heavy breathing. It came from underneath my sports car.
I dropped to my knees and there was Roscoe stretched the width of the car, head at one end and his toes touching the wheels on the other. He’d just used up another of his 999 lives — and it wasn’t because he was chewing on electrical cords or house insulation.
“How could you have missed him?” Bill asked incredulously as we dislodged the elderly Lab from the low undercarriage of the car, his body parts still intact. I explained that the sun had hit the windshield as I drove in. Roscoe is black, after all.
And by the way, did I mention I was having a very bad day? And now poor Roscoe was having one, too.
Boy! I hope I didn’t run over anyone else while I was preoccupied with my less-than-perfect day. You know, acting irritable or grouchy when things didn’t go right for me — sort of throwing them under the bus with cranky behavior. The last thing I wanted were any casualties!
Fortunately, Roscoe wasn’t one. By the grace of God he was OK.
Hmmm... God’s grace. That’s something I need every day.
More so on a very bad day.