A Gift In A Graveyard
You just never know when God is going to show up and give you a very special gift. He must have decided that we needed such a gift on a summer day in an unexpected location. My wife and I had attended a small-town festival, had some food and a cold beer, and decided to head home early while there was still plenty of daylight. We left the town square and drove down a narrow paved road that eventually would come out at the state highway we would use to get one county east and home. That little road runs through the town's cemetery. Parts of the pavement have worn away, exposing cobblestones underneath the surface. As I was driving our old Dodge 4x4 diesel truck - not exactly known for a smooth ride - I was basically idling along while the big truck bounced over every imperfection in the road.
Suddenly, my wife yells "Stop!" I hit the brakes and start a much more serious scan of the surrounding terrain. Tombstones. Since I doubt we are going to encounter zombies, I turned to her to find out what she'd seen. She tells me to get under the truck. Actually, she says there is a puppy under the truck. Since I realized that it would be virtually impossible for a puppy to run under the truck and not get crushed, and since I also realized that my wife is generally right, I jump out and start moving around the pickup. About the time I get even with the transfer case, I see it. It isn't just a puppy, it is an extremely young puppy, just walking and maybe weighing a few pounds. I grab it, determine "it" is a she, and she immediately snuggles into my vest.
Back in the truck, we retrace our path to the nearest house and ask a woman there if it was her puppy or if she recognized the little dog. She didn't know the puppy but said that someone had dumped a litter of pups out in the cemetery a few days ago and thought that animal control had picked up all of them. She then said, "looks like you have a new dog." Wonderful. Like we needed another dog. We had a herd of dogs already.
We get back in the truck and head home with our new little girl. I'm thinking that I'd like to find the scumbag who would dump a litter of puppies but that search would likely prove impossible and if successful, would wear me out from beating on the asshole I found. While I am pondering that, my wife casually notes that our little puppy is absolutely covered in fleas. That was not a piece of news I particularly wanted to hear, especially when the little one is sitting in my vest. I guess it could have been worse, it could have been winter and cold - since upon arriving at home, my wife and I get to remove all our clothing outside and then give the puppy a flea bath, clean ourselves off, spray the truck interior and all the other anti-flea rituals that come with a new dog. Just part of life with dogs, and I really don't have much problem with it. The puppy, of course, was having a great time in the wash tub.
Several years have passed since that day. The puppy, named "Little Bit," is about 15 pounds now. She is a Jack Russell Terrier/Beagle mix. She plays with our deaf dog all the time, sleeps in the bed with us and has the calmest disposition of any dog that I can remember. Little Bit is a loved and happy addition to our home. We are very fortunate that God put her under our truck. He gave us a wonderful gift, and I'd have never expected such a gift, especially in a graveyard.
Suddenly, my wife yells "Stop!" I hit the brakes and start a much more serious scan of the surrounding terrain. Tombstones. Since I doubt we are going to encounter zombies, I turned to her to find out what she'd seen. She tells me to get under the truck. Actually, she says there is a puppy under the truck. Since I realized that it would be virtually impossible for a puppy to run under the truck and not get crushed, and since I also realized that my wife is generally right, I jump out and start moving around the pickup. About the time I get even with the transfer case, I see it. It isn't just a puppy, it is an extremely young puppy, just walking and maybe weighing a few pounds. I grab it, determine "it" is a she, and she immediately snuggles into my vest.
Back in the truck, we retrace our path to the nearest house and ask a woman there if it was her puppy or if she recognized the little dog. She didn't know the puppy but said that someone had dumped a litter of pups out in the cemetery a few days ago and thought that animal control had picked up all of them. She then said, "looks like you have a new dog." Wonderful. Like we needed another dog. We had a herd of dogs already.
We get back in the truck and head home with our new little girl. I'm thinking that I'd like to find the scumbag who would dump a litter of puppies but that search would likely prove impossible and if successful, would wear me out from beating on the asshole I found. While I am pondering that, my wife casually notes that our little puppy is absolutely covered in fleas. That was not a piece of news I particularly wanted to hear, especially when the little one is sitting in my vest. I guess it could have been worse, it could have been winter and cold - since upon arriving at home, my wife and I get to remove all our clothing outside and then give the puppy a flea bath, clean ourselves off, spray the truck interior and all the other anti-flea rituals that come with a new dog. Just part of life with dogs, and I really don't have much problem with it. The puppy, of course, was having a great time in the wash tub.
Several years have passed since that day. The puppy, named "Little Bit," is about 15 pounds now. She is a Jack Russell Terrier/Beagle mix. She plays with our deaf dog all the time, sleeps in the bed with us and has the calmest disposition of any dog that I can remember. Little Bit is a loved and happy addition to our home. We are very fortunate that God put her under our truck. He gave us a wonderful gift, and I'd have never expected such a gift, especially in a graveyard.
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