George has always suspected that he is really god

"Look, mum! I can walk on water! I AM god!"

I never should have read those Bible stories to him when he was a puppy.

But I pointed out that he couldn't be god because god wouldn't eat horse poo.

'Why not?'

'Because it's yucky.'

'It says in the Bible that no food is unclean.'

I looked at him for a moment. I was surprised: I didn't think he liked the writings of Paul. Then I pulled myself together. 'Ah, but it says food. Horse poo isn't food.'

'I eat it therefore it is food.'

George's logic is sometimes frighteningly infallible. I hope he isn't really God. Does it say anywhere that in the second coming God won't be manifested as a dog?

P.S. I am glad God created me and understands my humour. I think some fundamentalists probably wouldn't. God is so lovely. He's groovy. And cwtchy. And on a bitterly cold day the knowledge of his love warms me like a glow that spreads out from my very middle.

And it's not a sweet sentimental love though I may be making it sound like that. God can be angry and fierce and sorrowful and he often allows things that bemuse me, but under it all is that amazing love that isn't pink fluffy pillows or hot water bottles or cuddly teddies but is a horrible painful death. But he's good for cwtches too.