Feeding Tebow

I don't know much about football except what my friend Ruth has taught me. A few years ago, after discovering my dearth of knowledge on the subject, Ruth invited me and my guys to watch the Super Bowl with her and her family.

Ruth, an 80-something, God-loving woman who can barely see anymore, proceeded to give me lessons in the art of American football. I learned all kinds of stuff under her tutelage: why a team might kick the ball even though they have one more chance at a touchdown, what a safety is, and that they actually pause the game for commercial breaks (who knew?).

But nothing Ruth taught me prepared me to come face to face with Tebow...the dog, that is.

When some good friends left on a short trip they asked me to feed their new dog. Now, I don't love dogs, but I have a generally congenial relationship with them. I don't bother them as long as they don't bother me. I have nothing against them and appreciate those who love them. I only ask the same in return. So feeding a neighbor's do is no big deal. Not, that is, until I came face to face with him.

(Those of you who know about dogs are about to learn that I know as much about dogs as I do about football; perhaps even less since I've never had a dog tutor.)

Tebow is a tall-ish dog with a rounded pug-like face whom I later learned is a friendly boxer. But when I looked at him eyeing me through the glass door I was supposed to walk through to offer up his victuals, all I saw were his teeth (even though in retrospect I am certain he never actually bared his teeth) and flashed back to all the stories of people mauled by previously friendly dogs.

Still, I know these friends well and know they would not have a vicious dog. Nonetheless, I was quaking as I unlocked the door and slowly opened it, moving ever so cautiously and without making eye contact with Tebow. I shakily got the food in the bowl, refreshed his water, and got myself safely back on the other side of that door before I took another look at the giant living shredder.

And that is when I realized that the whole time I was out there feeding him, Tebow was cowering behind a bench. Perhaps Ruth could teach me a thing or two about dogs as well.