In the hazy dust bowls of rural culture the phenomenon of the car-chasing, stray dog is the reality of feral cat and domestic dog frenzy. With his unkempt coiffure baring the twisted cowlicks of brutal skirmishes, he stylishly struts and boasts his pristine fight record against all comers, except maybe the car. A mud-slinging man eater, he’s not afraid to mix it up or mash it down; in broad daylight in the mud, or in the alleyways and the gutters at night. He’ll take you on in the ring or in the bushes, heavily armed in full body armor, or buck naked, layered with Vaseline. He thrives on bone-shattering blood-lettings that produce the gritty, blood-tinted drool visibly drizzled across his chalky hacksawed choppers. He bares a wide and taunting grin as if to say, “come on, is that all you got?” He’s a bully and often the physical conflict gives way to the surrender of the fearful, who’d rather be labeled cowards than endure the stench of sweaty close-quarter grappling leading up to an eventual no-win submission, finished with a fresh portion of endless ridicule. Not surprisingly, he fights dirty; filthy and underhanded, in fact. His strategy for winning is always to go low, go for the surprise; whatever it takes to win, and he has beaten every challenger so far, except maybe the car.
The mysterious irritation the car provides is the bane of that dog’s existence. With its shiny wheels flashing like strobe lights, reflecting like fishing lures, the car seems to boast of its speed and flaunt its beauty as it kicks dust in his raging red eyes and it prances just outside of his impatient reach. The intrigue of the droning engine hum and the romantic smell of hot exhaust challenges his instinct to conquer and control. Deep in his heart he’s afraid of that car but he could never resist the triple-dog-dare to go after it.
What if the dog catches the car?
A gaggle of shamed and humbled warriors would observe him in the joyful silence of their blissful egotism gloating at the total unpreparedness of the foolish dog to understand the complexities of the car’s operation. As they’d watch him fumble and flounder to gain control they’d mock his pleas for help while musing at the streaking vehicle’s raw power becoming less and less controllable. They’d laugh, no doubt and make presumptions about hypothetical prayers the dog may have prayed as his life passed before his very eyes and they’d imagine him asking them to risk their lives to save his. “Hummmph! Imagine that”. Where was his compassion when they were being unfairly persecuted? Who came to their rescue?
In the calm satisfaction of their vengeful redemption they’d pause, reflect, contemplate. Maybe they’d help, maybe not but they certainly wouldn’t want to make it easy on him. Making sure they weren’t too quick to the rescue and making sure he didn’t get away clean after all the dirt he’s done, they’d seek the only satisfaction they could gain from this ironic reversal of fortune: they’d make him pay.
Last week in American politics the dog caught the car. It may be funny watching him frantically trying to steer; it may be scary because we know the character of that particular dog very well. We know his alpha dog arrogance could easily tempt him to keep trying to drive without our help. He may sincerely want to drive the car safely and not know how to ask for help. We may be tempted to tune out and let the chips (and the car) fall where they may. We may want to make sure the dog gets what we think he deserves but I hope we don’t wait too long before we realize, that’s “our” car and we’re all in the car with him.
“Therefore I exhort first of all that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and giving of thanks be made for all men, for kings and all who are in authority, that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and reverence. For this is good and acceptable in the sight of God our Savior, who desires all men to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth.” 1 Timothy 2:1 (NKJV)
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