He was a good dog, basically -- obedient and staying within the confines of the lawn, which was surrounded by one of those invisible fences.

He was a good dog until some female pooch, with lowered, fluttering eyelids, walked by, wagging her tail sensuously.

Then Baci would go bonkers. He would lunge toward the invisible fence, yelping even before he got there, aware of the pain he would suffer, but he would plunge through anyway. Baci was willing to pay the price for the momentary pleasure of rubbing noses with his lady.

A bit like Baci, 33 Christian pastors across the country apparently are willing to brave the Internal Revenue Service's electric fence by defying the agency's 1954 commandment "Thou shalt not preach politics from the pulpit." These pastors are endorsing candidates for the upcoming presidential election at the risk of having to pay income tax on every pledge that comes into the church treasury.

One can't help wondering about the nature of a congregation that would permit a pastor such reckless leeway.

I can't imagine a congregation being totally Democratic or Republican. In most churches, a pastor's outright endorsement of a political candidate would surely split the church asunder, launching verbal if not physical civil war among the members.

As a consequence, if the pastors succeed in defying the IRS, look for a Church of the Good Democrat to spring up on one corner, a Grand Old Presbyterian on another. Down the street you might find Biden Baptist and across town, Palin Pentecostal. Sermons would be preached from the Gospel According to Obama or from the First Book of the Apostle McCain.

The only plus might be a few billion bucks collected in church taxes that could be applied to the Wall Street bailout.

I don't know why we can't get along with the present policy: banning political endorsements from the pulpit while continuing the practice of cluttering up windshields in the parking lot with campaign leaflets during 11 a.m. worship services.

Condolences

Thanks for your many expressions of condolence on the loss of Delbert. They have been forwarded to members of the immediate family.

One reader wrote, "When my wife left me, she took the dog. I sure did miss that dog!"

Dr. Randall Williams of Raleigh said that a friend told him that his minister had said dogs don't go to heaven because they do not have souls. Williams reminded him of poet Robert Louis Stevenson's comment that not only do dogs go to heaven, but they'll get there a lot sooner than most of us.

An interesting observation: The most emotional responses to the loss of a dog came from male readers, underscoring the theory that few if any relationships are stronger than the one between a man and his dog.

Say again?

An excerpt from a church bulletin proves we can't be too careful about sentence structure:

"The eighth-graders will present Shakespeare's 'Hamlet' in the church basement Friday at 7 p.m. The congregation is invited to attend this tragedy."

A Nell-ism

My and everybody's friend, the late Nell Joslin Devereaux Styron, "Old Raleigh" in its finest sense, fluttered through life like a brightly colored butterfly, bringing delight wherever she lit.

One of her most memorable comments came one day as she led us to a table at the popular Upstairs Restaurant. It had to do with the marriage breakup of mutual friends.

Whispering conspiratorially behind a menu, she said with a sigh, "Well, my deah, as you well know, Cameron Park is nothing but a hotbed of hot beds anyway."

The 'nice day' cliché

The overworked "Have a nice day" seems to have permanently replaced traditional forms of farewell such as "bye," "so long," "see ya," "take care," etc.

One can't help wondering: what constitutes a "nice day"?

To some, it might be a day free from pain. To others, a dividend check in the mailbox. To a businessman, the culmination of a corporate merger; to others, a drought-ending rain, a miraculous bypass from a Category 4 hurricane or a "nothing to worry about" report from a medical test.

I came home one day recently and found a terse message on my answering machine from 5-year-old grandson Wade:

"Snowdaddy, I had a nice day. I found a frog. I love you. Bye."

May each of you in some way find a frog today.

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