Great Dog Stories (27 page)

It’s not the size of the dog in the fight,
it’s the size of the fight in the dog.

M
ARK
T
WAIN

H
ave you ever heard it said of people that they don’t know their own strength? Well, my little puppy Marley doesn’t know his own size. He was less than three pounds when he stood his ground with a full-grown pit bull and showed no signs of shrinking back.

Okay, so the pit bull was a pussycat…but how was Marley to know that? He had never met Sasha before. She was one of four dogs that belonged to his then-trainer, Sue. When Sue took Marley to her place for some extra homeschooling, she plopped him down with her brood and Marley never flinched.

Nor was Marley afraid to flex his pint-sized muscles with his new pit bull pal. When Sasha woke him up from a nap, he fussed at his oversized playmate. He started growling and biting at her mouth…and she took it!

That was all before Marley came to live with me. I don’t have pit bulls—but I have a very large cat. Bo weighs three or four times what Marley did when he first arrived. Bo is also the bully of the household. If he wants me to himself, he’ll whap any other four-foot aside to achieve his objective. Bo slapped Marley in this way. But tiny Marley also put the fear of dog into Bo. Not always, but sometimes, I would see my giant cat flee when Marley barked or ran at him. They like each other now, but I think my pint-sized puppy knocked Bo at least partway off his bully pulpit.

Marley is half papillon, a quarter toy Sheltie, and a quarter Pomeranian. Papillons have been dubbed big dogs in small dog bodies. Whatever the case, Marley’s heart and courage are definitely huge for his size. I do believe he had some fear of my other four-foots, including Bo, when he first got here, but he didn’t shrink back. He went full tilt to mark out his place in the family.

Marley’s huge heart in a tiny body makes me think of a certain famous shepherd boy named David who faced off against a giant named Goliath. But there’s a difference. David wasn’t fighting to assert himself. He was fighting to uphold the name and honor of God. Even though humanly he was outmatched, he trusted God for the victory—and felled the giant with a slingshot and a stone.

Like so many Old Testament stories, David’s battle with Goliath illustrates a deeper spiritual truth. God’s children constantly battle spiritual Goliaths. They often pounce during tough times in life. And perhaps no life experience is more wrenching than the premature loss of a child—which is what my dear friend Lilly faced when her grandson was stricken with cancer.

Little Diego was only two when an extremely stubborn and aggressive form of cancer first reared its ugly head in his arm. His doctors tried chemo to save the limb. When that failed, they amputated his arm below the elbow to stop the cancer’s spread. No go! The cancer attacked his brain and lungs. A huge community of believers fought for this child’s life in prayer, and Diego valiantly soldiered on, playing pirate to symbolize his fight. But as his fifth birthday approached, things were looking grim. Grandma Lilly’s heart was breaking.

A Goliath far worse than the ancient Philistine giant or even the cancer was stalking Lilly. This Goliath was the enemy of our souls. Satan wanted to use Diego’s illness to attack Lilly’s faith. But despite her agony, Lilly kept crying out to God—and He gave her the slingshot and stones she needed.

You might say that Lilly’s slingshot was God’s Spirit, God’s Word, and the prayers of her friends. And yes, these were also stones to fling at Satan. But God chose some other special stones just for her. The first came in the form of a vision or dream. Lilly sensed God speaking to her and saying, “Give Me the child.” She didn’t want to. She struggled against it. But ultimately, she released her beloved Diego to the Lord. Then, in the vision, she saw her precious grandson running in a field. He had a full head of hair and both his arms—and he was laughing. Just weeks later, on Christmas Eve, five-year-old Diego went to be with Jesus.

The second special stone God gave Lilly to fight her Goliath didn’t come till many months later. In the interim, Lilly battled depression. She struggled to believe God was good. Emotionally, she was riding a seemingly endless roller coaster of hurt and pain. But she refused to yield to Satan and jump off into unbelief. She clung to God instead.

Perhaps the toughest day of the year was Christmas Eve. Lilly wondered whether this treasured holiday would forever be darkened by the memory of Diego’s death. Then, on the second anniversary of his passing, God gave Lilly a marvelous gift. Lilly’s youngest daughter, Diego’s aunt, phoned with the news that she was pregnant with her first child. She had purposely waited until Christmas Eve to share the news so her mom’s painful memories would always be tempered by the joyous announcement of new life.

Marley has huge courage and spunk, and it serves him well on a doggie level. But some foes, like Lilly’s, can’t be defeated this way. Paul the apostle was thinking of just such Goliaths when he wrote, “Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms” (Ephesians 6:10-12).

When David fought Goliath of old, he did it without physical armor. King Saul had offered his, but it didn’t fit. God’s spiritual armor, however, is one-size-fits-all. Lilly is wearing it and winning her battle. How about you?

Even the smallest person can change
the course of the future.

J.R.R. T
OLKIEN

O
ur dog Squitchey weighs just seven pounds. She looks like a Yorkie, but she acts like a Dalmatian. We found out she has both breeds in her lineage when my husband’s sister had Squitchey’s DNA analyzed as a birthday gift. She may be small, but she does her size proud. She holds her own with our Welsh corgi, Stuart, who is four times her weight. He is the alpha dog between them, but if he doesn’t share quickly enough, she fights for her rights in playful, vigorous ways.

Thanks to her compact size, Squitchey can easily dig her way out from under the fence in our backyard. She doesn’t go far; she seems to want to guard our home. She tries to walk quickly around it and then crawl back under the fence before we see her. When we do catch her, my husband, Steve, immediately fills up her latest hole with rocks and dirt. It doesn’t seem to bother her. She just waits for the next opportunity and digs her way out at another place.

Squitchey’s favorite thing to do after a long day of protecting is to jump up on Steve’s lap as he sprawls in his easy chair. Much as she loves acting like a big dog, she seems to enjoy and appreciate the comfort of being small. Stuart tries to jump on laps too, but when he lands, he feels more like a bulldozer than a dog.

As canines go, Squitchey is short stuff. As humans go, so am I. Two of my very special friends are much taller than I am. That’s not saying a lot considering I am only five feet, four inches—but Cory and Susie are both several inches taller. When we go places together, I often wish I were as tall as they are so I could get into tall vehicles without help. As it is, they hop into Susie’s pickup and then drive to the curb where I am standing so I can climb in.

I’ve also wished I were tall enough to reach items on a high shelf by myself. I’ve had to ask for help to get a glass out of Susie’s cupboard. Since I’m also arthritic, moving is even a challenge for me. Squitchey can jump four times her height and run in circles forever, but if I turned around too fast, I’d fall down.

But even though I’m vertically challenged and can’t move as fast as Squitchey does, I can still get quite a bit done in a day. Then, at night, my favorite place to be is snuggled next to Steve for a peaceful sleep.

Being short and loving Steve’s company is pretty much the extent of the likeness between Squitchey and me. But God made each of us the way we are for His purposes. Squitchey will remain close to seven pounds for the rest of her life. If she were a Dalmatian, she might not be the sweet little lap dog that she is. I could complain about my height, but doing so wouldn’t change a thing. And who knows? God might have something special for me to do that I couldn’t if I were tall.

That was certainly the case for a man named Zacchaeus. What he’s best known for is being a “wee little man.” He was also rich and an unscrupulous tax collector. God made him a little guy so He could emphasize this man’s huge desire to see Jesus. In Luke 19, we read that Zacchaeus was so anxious to see the Lord that he climbed up into a sycamore tree so he could look over the crowd’s heads. Jesus saw Zacchaeus’s great longing and told him, “Zacchaeus, come down immediately. I must stay at your house today” (Luke 19:5). Zacchaeus repented of his cheating ways and followed Jesus. This short man’s story has a big place in the Bible to this day.

Squitchey acts like a big dog at times, but she also enjoys her diminutive size, and it makes her a perfect lap dog. Being short doesn’t mean God shortchanged me or Squitchey, or Zacchaeus, either. He made each of us unique and for a unique purpose—and no matter what our size, we can stand tall in our hearts knowing we are His creation.

It is true, Christian, the debt you owe to God
must be paid in good and lawful money, but,
take comfort. Here Christ is the paymaster.

W
ILLIAM
G
URNALL

M
y adorable nine-year-old papillon mix, Munchie, came to me from a rescue group. He was a pet whose person could no longer care for him. He wound up in an animal shelter where he was spotted by the head of this rescue group, Angie.

Angie realized this sweet little guy was a perfect candidate to be re-homed. He didn’t even seem to realize he was in a shelter. She was determined to find him a new family. After a standard waiting period, she could pay a fee to get him out. The cost of Munchie’s redemption was one hundred dollars. If it wasn’t paid, he’d eventually be euthanized.

There was no way a dog could come up with one dollar, let alone one hundred. Munchie could not possibly have freed himself. He wouldn’t even have understood that this was necessary. Fortunately, Angie had a heart to help him and was willing to do for him what he couldn’t do for himself. The moment he became available she paid the price, took him from the shelter, and placed him in foster care. Some weeks later I took over his foster mom duties and ultimately adopted Munchie into my four-footed family.