Jesus Had Me Put To Sleep

This guy...this is the guy.


I swear, this is the analogy (or is it a metaphor?) that I've been looking for ever since Jesus brought me home from the pound. I exist only to serve him, fetch his sandals, and, on occaision, beg for my food.

He never hits me in the nose with a rolled-up newspaper anymore, and hardly ever uses the choke collar. But I must be broken, because he says he's taking me to the vet to get fixed. Still, he is my master and...what's that? You want me to go for a ride?

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