Friday, September 7, 2012

Someone spied a long hair on my black suit coat the other day. "Yes," I acknowledged, "it belongs to a female, but she was a real dog." Every now and again I need to get my dog fix (that's different from getting a dog "fixed"). I grew up with dogs; I'm a dog fan; my mother taught me, "Bill darling, never trust anyone who doesn't like dogs." It's no wonder that one of the simplest yet most profo
und of the common symbolos in the catacombs of Rome is the pawprint of a dog crudely impressed in the drying concrete that sealed a tomb. It was a statement by the early Catholics about one of their fellow Believers: "As a dog is loyal to its master and looks to it for food and shelter, so this Christian was loyal to our heavenly Master, and looked to Him for protection, providence, and grace." So I admit it: I went to a friend's home the other night to satisfy my dog fix. She was a blonde, but a real dog!
September 5, 2012
Msgr. William J. King

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