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The Cornfield

The CornfieldLike two bugs daydreaming in tall grass, Red Dog and I sat in the middle of the cornfield.

"Red Dog," I said, "I feel as if we are in a beautiful cathedral. Sunlight filtering through these corn blades is like light streaming through stained-glass windows. These long, straight corn-rows are the cathedral's rows of seats and the wind rustling through the corn's leaves is the shuffling of a thousand people as they kneel with their heads bowed in prayer."

Red Dog looked at me in a way that let me know just how bored he was with simply sitting in the middle of a big cornfield.

"So why do I tell you these things?" I asked. "How can you know what I'm talking about when you've never even seen a cathedral?"

I stood up and began beating dust from my britches.

"Oh-oh," I said. "Red Dog, I've forgotten which way we came from. The sun is right overhead so I can't use it to figure out which way is east or west. Red Dog, I don't know which way to go!"

Red Dog wasn't upset at all. He didn't even seem to notice that I was lost. He just stood up, shook the dust from his red fur, sniffed the ground and found the odor of our trail. Then he began leading toward home without any fuss.

"Red Dog," I said as I followed, "I know many things that you do not. However, so often, you are the one who must lead...

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