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Matter of Perspective

It's all a matter of perspective.

This morning my family and I were in great danger. Around 5:30 AM a marauding band of men came into our neighborhood. There were two, perhaps three, riding up and down our residential streets. During the wee hours, motorcycles could have woken us up so the chose a large truck with a crushing mechanism attached.

Luckily, Max, our trusted Labrador retriever and resident superhero had been standing guard all night long outside the bedrooms of our children. As a matter of stealth, he laid on the floor, eyes closed in the dark. But anyone that knows Max also knows that he wasn't sleeping, merely closing his eyes to hide their whites.

The truck rumbled, in front of each house it sent the orange jump-suited men on recon missions to determine their best targets. You can tell a lot about the residents of a home by examining their refuge, and clearly these men recognize the value of that information. They were well organized.

As the men approached our home, Max leaped into action. He darted from window to window sounding the alarm, making sure our sleeping children were aware that danger had invaded our suburban neighborhood. He didn't have time to run back the hallway to wake the grown-ups, and had to stay to protect the children. Quick thinking, Max used his tail to knock picture frames from their resting place, shattering the glass assuring that the grown-ups were now alert.

He stood his ground, barking loudly at the orange clad marauding gang members. While they managed to steal our trash, the children were safe. Clearly, the barking had worked. Max will remember this for the future. Barking always works. Lots of barking.

Max rewarded his parched throat with a cold drink from the large ever-flowing porcelain chalice the family had given him. Job well done.

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