The Mayor and The Rooster, under the influence of peer pressure from their short and loud, southern, church going, tiny friends, came home this week and complained that their father and I actively deny them the experience of going to church.
"You NEVER take us to church," they whined. "We want to go to church."
[Church of the Zoo no longer counts, apparently.]
So, okay fine. We'll go to church.
The Mayor went on to insist that he had to have dress clothes just like those his father wears to work in order attend.
He hounded me about this every day this week until I took him to Macy's and set him free with my credit card.
Let us pray.
At the church mass, there was a whole lot of talk about Jeremiah.
[Not the one who was a bullfrog.]
The Priest read something from the Bible...
"Woe to the shepherds who mislead and scatter the flock of my pasture, says the LORD."
[I pity the fool who misleads my flock!]
"Therefore, thus says the LORD, the God of Israel, against the shepherds who shepherd my people: You have scattered my sheep and driven them away."
[The well known Ovine Diaspora.]
"You have not cared for them, but I will take care to punish your evil deeds."
[Serious time out.]
"I myself will gather the remnant of my flock from all the lands to which I have driven them and bring them back to their meadow; there they shall increase and multiply."
[Oooh! Baby lambs!]
"I will appoint shepherds for them who will shepherd them so that they need no longer fear and tremble; and none shall be missing, says the LORD."
The Mayor furrowed his brow in all earnestness, concentrating on the words, determined to follow their meaning.
Finally, he leaned over to his Father and said,
"Why is he talking so much about people who own sheep?"
The Priest gave K a look of concern because my poor husband was suddenly hunched over with his shoulders shuddering violently and he appeared to be inconsolably sobbing into his hands.