The lack of intelligence was far outweighed by his big brown eyes and the consistent wag of his tail. We have always known that the opportunity to get food would always have a stronger grip over him than anything. It has always been amusing through the years to watch him cower and hide each time a dog not even a quarter of his size came into view. What matters to us is that he belongs to us.

By far, the most mysterious behavior he has is how he handles being given a bone. He never seems to enjoy it. Actually, it brings him anxiety, restlessness, despair and the inability to move on with his day enjoying anything around him.

He circles around the house with a whimper which soon turns into a howl. One of us finally opens the door for him to take his object of stress out to the yard. Yet, oddly, this only makes him cry with even more distress. He steps outside but continues to walk in circles becoming more frantic with every step.

Finally, he digs a hole, and buries his bone deeply in the ground. He is now able to come inside and get back to a life of scrounging and sleep.

I have hoped to see the day he would go out and dig up his treasures. After twelve years, I’m thinking that he has completely forgotten about each bone ever buried. Our huge backyard is now permanently filled with those bones that have caused him so much stress.

I’ve been given many bones in my life as well. Actually, the more people I have in my life, the more bones I receive. I, like you, have been wronged. The strange thing is how I carry those bones around in my mouth. I don’t put them down. I seem to walk in circles, getting nowhere, and moaning to myself about the bone for days, weeks, months, and sadly even years. All I can seem to think about is my grip on that bone, and I continue to suffer over it.

God has provided a huge back yard for me. The size always matches the amount of people in my life. Thankfully, my yard has remained rather large. It offers freedom, yet, I sometimes keep my hold and continue to inflict myself with the pain from the offense over and over again. If only I would be smart like my dog with little intelligence, bury it, and forget about it altogether.

To be wronged is really nothing at all, unless of course, we choose to remember it.