Excerpted from Max Lucado’s newest, Great Day Every Day.
Excerpts from the diary of a dog:
8:00am Oh boy, dog food – my favorite.
9:30am Oh boy, a car ride – my favorite.
9:40am Oh boy, a walk – my favorite.
10:30am Oh boy, another car ride – my favorite.
11:30am Oh boy, more dog food – my favorite.
12:00pm Oh boy, the kids – my favorite.
1:00pm Oh boy, the yard – my favorite.
4:00pm Oh boy, the kids again – my favorite.
5:00pm Oh boy, dog food again – my favorite.
5:30pm Oh boy, Mom – my favorite.
6:00pm Oh boy, playing ball – my favorite.
8:30pm Oh boy, sleeping in my master’s bed – my favorite.
Excerpts from the diary of a cat:
Day 283 of my captivity. My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat while I’m forced to eat dry cereal. I’m sustained by the hope of escape and the mild satisfaction I derive from ruining a few pieces of furniture. Tomorrow I may eat another houseplant. I attempted to kill my captors this morning by weaving through their walking feet. Nearly succeeded. Must try this strategy at the top of the stairs. Seeking to disgust and repulse these vile oppressors, I once again induced myself to vomit on their favorite chair. Must try this on their bed. To display my diabolical disposition, I decapitated a mouse and deposited the headless body on their kitchen floor. The only cooed and condescended, patting my head and calling me a “strong little kitty.” Hmm – not working according to plan. During a gathering of their accomplices, they placed me in solitary confinement. I overheard that my confinement was due to my power of allergies. Must learn what this means and how to use it to my advantage.
I am convinced the other household captives are flunkies, perhaps snitches. The dog is routinely released and seems naively happy to return. He is, no doubt, a half-wit. The bird speaks with the humans regularly. Must be an informant. I am certain he reports my every move. Due to his current placement in the metal cage, his safety is assured, but I can wait. It is only a matter of time.
The day of a dog. The day of a cat. One content, the other conniving. One at peace, the other at war. One grateful, the other grumpy. Same house. Same circumstances. Same master. yet two entirely different attitudes.
Which diary reads more like yours? Were your private thoughts made public, how often would the phrase “Oh boy, my favorite” appear?