The first and last time I sat down at a gaming table, I grew sick with dread each time I pushed a $5 chip toward the dealer. I wondered then, and still do, at the gambler’s necessary nerves of steel. My own set is largely comprised of thin threads; hence, I might as well have been betting the farm rather than an evening’s ‘entertainment.’ Like CS Lewis, who points out in his preface to Mere Christianity, “no man, I suppose, is tempted to every sin. It so happens that the impulse which makes men gamble has been left out of my make-up…” I am not a gambler. At least not when cards and money are on the table.
Money makes me nervous. Risking cash in my pocket on the flip of a card? Can’t do it. Risk my heart? My sanity? My energy? That’s a different story. Take a look:
Who wouldn’t risk her heart for such a face? On April 19th, 2013, this little lug came bounding into our hearts and home. A pup in need of rescue rescued me from the gaping hole I’d fallen into when our beloved Lab died in March. Part Shepherd, with ears that point up when his head flops down; part Lab, with the signature food inhalation and little webbed paws; and part Shar-Pei, with wrinkly skin to spare — this is our black Jack. A gamble to be sure. Odds are, we have a winner.