Recently I wrote a post about my concern for our elderly boy, Nicky, who has had trouble getting up the stairs. Amazingly, he made a recovery and is mobile again. Still, knowing that saying good-bye is inevitable, I have been thinking a lot about the blessing he has been to me throughout the years. Here's a little story about how he first arrived on the scene.
It had been a week since graduating from seminary and a year of serving my first church. It was time to get a dog. “Sure, come on over. I have a couple dogs to show you.” I was spending my first real vacation at my parents’ house in Maine. As my father and I drove the half hour to Lisbon, I was excited. I had been to a couple of kennels already, but I had a good feeling about this one. Arriving, we found a rundown house surrounded by a couple of falling down barns. A man stepped out in a torn t-shirt and baseball cap. “You here to look at the dogs?” He showed us a couple of sad looking labs and my heart sank. Neither of these were my dog. As we stepped away to leave, I spotted a black and white bundle of energy tied to a dog house in the back. Straining at his lead, he leapt and barked as we took in the spectacle. “Is that dog up for adoption?” I asked. Smiling, the man responded, “Him?” Stooping down to look in his brown doggie eyes, I knew he was family.