Great Dog Stories (23 page)

A few days later, I spoke with Mom on a Sunday afternoon. She sounded upbeat and strong. I hung up and plowed into my manuscript work. Two hours later, a phone call shattered my calm. Mom had been rushed to the hospital. It turned out she’d had a life-threatening heart attack.

Munchie had a couple of hot spots on his rear end, tail, and leg. I had a monster hot spot of guilt on my own heart. Why had I been so self-consumed? Why hadn’t I listened to that warning voice in my head? Why hadn’t I at least called her doctor to express concern? Maybe Mom would have resisted a checkup and tests…but she might have agreed. And if she had, perhaps the heart attack could have been averted and she wouldn’t be fighting for her life in the ER!

Amazingly, at the age of 90, Mom survived this near-death experience and a procedure to deal with some blocked arteries. And gradually, I let up on gnawing at my guilt hot spot. I understood that even though I blew it, God forgave me. I understood that Jesus died to cover my sins of selfishness and negligence (and all my others) with His blood. But the wound still burned with my own self-condemnation, and my impulse was to keep on licking. I had to fight this…and as Mom slowly seemed to improve, it got a bit easier to do.

I hoped the surgical procedure and Mom’s follow-up medication and care would buy her an extra two or three years of life. It was not to be. Five months later she started going into repeated congestive heart failure. Her cardiologist told me her heart was tired and couldn’t go on. With Mom’s consent, she was put into hospice and died days later.

Needless to say, my guilt hot spot flared again. I was tempted to chew it into a red-hot boil. But I knew it wasn’t what she would have wanted, or what God desired. I knew I needed to let God “cone” me anew with the pardon Jesus purchased, and gradually, I did. I have also tried to honor Mom’s memory and use the resources she left me in ways that would please and honor her and my Lord.

Munchie the dog didn’t realize gnawing at his hot spots would make them worse, not better. I did, but I still had to fight the impulse to do so. I have to think the apostle Paul might have faced the same struggle. His hot spot of guilt came from having persecuted the early church and having stood by while Stephen was martyred. But he also understood God’s grace. That’s why he wrote in 1 Timothy 1:13-14, “Even though I was once a blasphemer and a persecutor and a violent man, I was shown mercy because I acted in ignorance and unbelief. The grace of our Lord was poured out on me abundantly, along with the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus.”

Munchie has been with me a year and a half now. He is owie-free. His shaved fur has grown back lush and plush. But he and my other four-foots still need their once-a-month flea treatment to keep the problem from recurring.

I also need ongoing “flea treatment” for the sins that try to jump on me and bite me and give me spiritual sores. I need to confess to God on an ongoing basis. And I need to receive the forgiveness He so freely gives—so I can be lush and plush in serving Him.

Man’s mind is so formed that it is far more
susceptible to falsehood than to truth.

D
ESIDERIUS
E
RASMUS

G
eldenwynde Wilson was the registered name for Wyndy, a beautiful, well-trained four-year-old golden retriever. She belonged to Steven Wilson and his family. Wyndy loved her people and showed it in many wonderful canine ways. She slept when they slept. She always joined in when they sat together to watch TV. But her favorite thing was to play outside. She would fetch anything they threw for her, and return it with vigor. Of course, there were times when she would take the object to be fetched and run with it—as her people gave chase, yelling happily.

Quite often, Wyndy would also travel with the Wilsons. She seemed to enjoy it immensely. But on one particular occasion, the destination for their weekend trip was not suitable for dogs, so they left Wyndy home.

Wyndy’s family put out a large bowl of food for her, because they knew she only ate when she was hungry. They filled a five-gallon bucket with water for her to drink. They left their old truck in the backyard so Wyndy knew they would not be gone permanently. That truck had been “hers” since puppyhood. Wyndy dug a hole beside the wheel to lie in and put a rag in it for a snuggle.

As they were leaving, the family hugged Wyndy and said goodbye. They thought they’d just be apart for a couple of days. But when they returned, Wyndy was nowhere to be seen.

The Wilsons checked the neighborhood. Wyndy was a friendly dog and everyone knew her. But their search came up empty. No one had seen her. They called the pound, but she was not there. Then they put up signs everywhere and waited anxiously for a response, praying their beloved Wyndy would be found.

A few days later, they got a phone call. A friendly female voice spoke to them. She said she thought she had the Wilsons’ dog. Was it a beautiful golden retriever? Their answer was an eager, grateful
Yes
! The kind voice said the dog looked dirty, hungry, and tired—but well. Then the caller asked, “What is your dog’s name?”

Steven was filled with excitement to think that Wyndy was finally found. He said the dog’s name without thinking twice. He heard Wyndy’s toenails clicking on the floor as he imagined her getting up to run to the phone in response to her master’s voice.

The kind voice on the other end of the line called, “Here Wyndy, here girl!” Then the voice said, “Yep, this is her. Thanks!” The unknown person hung up and was never heard from again.

Wyndy’s people were stunned. What they thought was a kind, friendly voice was really a deceiving, evil one. But, what could they do? They prayed again for Wyndy, but this time they prayed that her new family would love her and take good care of her.

Though the circumstances were different, my son, John, and some friends of his also wound up with someone who pretended to be other than he was. They were on a school band trip in Florida and had a free day to explore. A taxi-type car stopped in front of them and the driver told them to get into the car for a day of wonderful experiences. Although the man seemed safe enough, the boys declined and kept on walking. The man stuck with them and persisted in trying to change their minds. He said he could show them things they had never seen before. The boys continued to refuse. Finally the man said in a rather gruff voice, “Boys, get in the car.” For whatever reason, they reluctantly gave in.

Their bogus “tour guide” showed them some sights, then took them to a bar where he told them they could drink without getting caught. The boys told him they weren’t interested. They asked the man to take them back to the place where he’d picked them up. Instead, he took them to a tunnel and told them it was the end of the ride unless they gave him money. They refused. The man left them there—miles from where they needed to be. It took them most of the afternoon to get back. Fortunately, they made it—tired but safe—when so much harm could have come to them.

Like the person who took Wyndy, this man was a deceiver. At first, his offer sounded like it could be fun. But it didn’t take long for John and his friends to realize that he was evil and they were in harm’s way. I don’t know if the boys prayed during the time they were in this man’s clutches, but the whole trip was being constantly lifted up in prayer. Many parents, students, and friends were asking God to keep everyone safe, and I’m sure that’s what kept them from a worse result.

Wyndy’s family won’t ever know the whole story of how she was taken. The woman caller said she’d found Wyndy out on the road. Maybe Wyndy was fooled by the woman’s seemingly kind voice and went with her. She had never known anything but love and kindness. And perhaps the woman needed a dog so badly that she was willing to break the hearts of an entire family to fill her need. Nevertheless, it was wrong. And the man who lured the boys into his car may have been in it only for the money. But that was wrong too—and it was a terrifying experience for a few scared teenagers.

There is another way that we are all in danger of being deceived and lured by an imposter. Jesus spoke of it when He walked this earth. He promised He would come again, but first, false messiahs would try to get people to follow them instead. In Luke 21:8, He warned: “Watch out that you are not deceived. For many will come in my name, claiming, ‘I am he,’ and, ‘The time is near.’ Do not follow them.”

Wyndy was taken many years ago, but the memory and hurt still linger, and she was gone forever. John and his friends escaped with just a scary afternoon. In the end, both Wyndy’s family and the boys learned how easy it is to be deceived. But we don’t need to get in the car with evil or be tricked into following false masters. If we stay alert to God’s Word and ask Him for wisdom, He will guide us safely home to Him.

Passion, though a bad regulator, is a powerful spring.

R
ALPH
W
ALDO
E
MERSON

L
ucy the border collie’s favorite holiday was the Fourth of July. She wasn’t particularly patriotic, but she was crazy about fire and fireworks. When a fuse was lit and her extended human family began the countdown, “Ten…nine…eight,” Lucy’s ears would perk up and she’d run in mad circles. “Three…two…one…BOOM!” Lucy’s heart leaped in her chest as she witnessed the rockets’ red glare and bombs bursting in air. But she wasn’t content to be a passive observer like her people. Lucy would charge in and snap at the fireworks—and at times, the fireworks would snap back. These miniburns never deterred Lucy. She’d shake her head, lick her chops, and go back to fire-snapping until all the sparkling flames were gone.

David can’t remember a time when Lucy didn’t have an affinity for fire. She was born with this hot-blooded trait. He thought it was either instinct—or foolishness. David’s family owned two other dogs, a golden retriever and a chocolate Lab. Other than being annoyed by the noise, neither of them showed any interest in fireworks. The Fourth of July was just another day.

Lucy’s other favorite celebrations were birthdays. David loved to watch Lucy’s growing excitement when dinner ended and the cake was being prepared in the kitchen. As the candles were lit, the pyro-loving pup would crouch down and wait, occasionally running in circles, eagerly anticipating the explosion. Since David’s family wasn’t partial to trick candles, this moment never came. Still, Lucy never wavered from her passion. Even when she was lying in her whelping box surrounded by a litter of newborn puppies, if a flame was lit nearby she’d hop out and do her fire-snapping dance. Her maternal instinct was trumped by her desire for fire.