Look at this photo. Now look again. Do you see it? DO YOU SEE IT?  I hesitate to read too much into total happenstance, particularly happenstance involving a bowl of water, and particularly when there are so many more pressing and substantive things to write about, including the decimation of life on earth and the air-sucking collapse of normalcy in all facets of American political life, but OH WHAT AM I TALKING ABOUT IT’S A MIRACLE! IT’S A MIRACLE! THE PAW OF DOG HAS TOUCHED US ALL!! It’s like seeing Jesus in a piece of toast! Mary in a radish! Kanye in a a Cheetoh! No. Wait. Not Kanye. That was Jesus, too.

Why are people constantly finding visions of Christ in single servings of food? I ask as one who believes in both God *and* snacks. Wouldn’t it make more sense if people encountered images of the divine in larger, more godly quantities? Say, an entire 18-wheeler shipment of Cheetohs. Why just one? Have theologians ever addressed this discrepancy? Shouldn’t they? Don’t answer.

And here again, it’s just one helping: a humble bowl of water. Within lies a clear and aqueous sign telling us to . . . ummm, I’m not sure what, exactly. To feed and water our pets? To keep the faith as the End Times loom (see “decimation of life on earth,” above)? To make terrible puns, remaining dogged (sorry) in the pursuit? To pen craptacular doggerel (sorry)?

WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN? It must mean something, and don’t tell me it doesn’t. You’re not allowed to say “It means nothing, Ames, it’s just a damn bowl in a damn sink, so stop reading too deeply into bubbles,” because that is not why we’re here. Not to be dogmatic (sorry) about it, but we’re here to decode the messages before us, and THIS ONE MAKES A PROFOUND STATEMENT. I just have no idea what it is. Do you? (Don’t answer that, either.)

True confessions: I do tend to see miracles in the everyday, though the closest I ever came with a dog was that time I got chomped in the thigh by a batshit Cujo in Ecudor and DIDN’T ACTUALLY DIE OF RABIES, AMEN AMEN HALLELUJAH, nor am I normally one to go scoping for the divine in Pyrex receptacles. I wasn’t this time, either; this isn’t my photo. It was snapped and sent to me by an ardent punster, attentive pet-owner and keen-eyed washer of dishes who reads my blog but inexplicably prefers to remain anonymous.

Dog knows why (sorry).