You Don't Have to Bark At Everything

I said it loudly and with conviction. I said it to my dog. But I didn’t hear the irony until later.
Tebow, our Morkie, was perched in his favorite spot on the back of the couch, scanning the movement of everything outside. A bee buzzed past the window and he barked. The plants outside waved in the wind and he barked. He thought someone was at the door and he barked. He barked at the sound of his bark.
“You don’t have to bark at everything,” I yelled.
I berated him, brow-beat him, looked sternly at him and rolled my eyes as if I were saying, “Come on, get with the program.”
“I’ll take care of the bunny in the yard or the wind or the truck going past without a muffler. If you see a rattlesnake or an intruder, you can bark, otherwise, I’m good. You don't have to bark at everything.”
Then it hit me, this must be how God feels about me.
There’s some issue that’s pressing, that has me all wrapped up. Somebody cuts me off in traffic or rushes ahead in the only open aisle at the grocery store and I have three items and they have 300. I get frustrated with a candidate's commercial or bone-headed play. And I bark.
I like to sit on my couch and bark and think I’m doing something. It makes me feel better to bark.
But life is not just about making me feel better. So I’m trying to learn from Tebow and save my bark for things that count. I don't have to bark at everything.