Go, Dogs, Go!

We are still unpacking into our house. I think one finally reaches the nirvana of successful moving by finding the best and most aesthetic ways to hide everything. Somethings you want to hide in the open: chairs, tables, tvs, pictures, art, gifts people expect to see; other things you just want out of the public eye: extra jugs of car anti-freeze, dirty underwear, box of things you don't know where to put, but you don't want to throw away, guns, clean underwear, paint cans, top-secret files; and then there is the things you will most likely never need: extra doorknobs, random pieces of wood, broken lamp you intend (but not really) to fix, pieces to that thing that you don't even know what it is but should keep all the same just in case it turns up. Yesterday I realized that the middle of our kitchen was still filled with boxes, jars, Gladware, cellophane, etc., and that most of our cabinets and drawers were still empty. One makes a split second decision (I'm going to put the measuring spoons . . . here), and it will probably be that way for many a year.


I am rifling through the packed books today and I find a bag in which resides merely three books. Two of them are about the fattest tomes I own: 1,589 pages of “The Bible Knowledge Commentary: Old Testament” and 1,290 pages of “Systematic Theology.” However, Sandwiched inbetween those two monsters is the paltry 64, one to two sentence, pages of P. D. Eastman's “Go, Dog. Go!” I do not know why they are packed together. Except that it possibly means to me that somewhere between understanding the Old Testament and having an overview of theology, one must understand the simple truths of “Do you like my hat?” / “I do not like that hat.” , “A green dog on a yellow tree. . . . A yellow dog under a tree. . . . Look at those dogs go. Go, Dogs. Go!”