I can tell it’s one of those days.
My human sits at his desk, papers spread out like fallen leaves.
There’s a sigh in the room… the kind that smells like worry and numbers and not enough treats.
He taps the pencil, rubs his forehead, and mutters something about taxes.
I don’t understand taxes.
I understand sticks.
I understand loyalty.
I understand when something belongs to someone—and you give it back.
Like when I find his sock under the bed.
I could keep it.
I want to keep it.
But I bring it back anyway.
Tail wagging.
Offering it up.
Because it’s his.
I heard him read this morning.
He always reads out loud, like I’m part of the pack—which I am.
“Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s.”
- Matthew 22:21 ESV
He paused there.
I tilted my head.
I may just be a dog… but that sounds simple enough.
Give to each what belongs to them.
The papers on the table?
Those belong to Caesar, I suppose.
Governments and roads and things I don’t chase.
My human may not like it—but he knows it’s right to give what’s owed.
But there’s something bigger in his scent today.
Not just stress… something deeper.
Because if coins belong to Caesar…
then what belongs to God?
I watch him closely.
His time.
His heart.
His attention.
Those don’t belong to Caesar.
They don’t belong to the job, or the bills, or the noise of the world that keeps him up too late and wakes him too early.
They belong to God.
And I wonder… does he give those back as freely as he gives the numbers on those pages?
I nudge his hand.
He smiles a little.
Scratches behind my ears.
The worry softens.
If I could speak his language, I’d tell him this:
You’re doing fine with Caesar.
Don’t forget about God.
Because I’ve seen it—the best moments.
When he sets everything down… the papers, the phone, the hurry… and just sits still.
Reads.
Prays.
Listens.
That’s when his scent changes.
Peace.
Like home.
I hope human remembers… it’s all God’s anyway.
Every bit of it.
I lay at his feet while he gathers the papers into a neat pile.
Tax Day will come and go.
Caesar will get his due.
But I’ll stay right here, watching, waiting… hoping my human remembers that the most important things he carries were never his to keep.
They were always meant to be given back.
Tail wagging.
Heart open.
Just like a good dog does.
Keep the Faith… Carpe Diem
