Great Dog Stories (28 page)

Not long after Munchie’s adoption, I had another, very different experience that underlined the importance of redemption. I was driving to meet some friends connected with a ministry about an hour from my home. The final portion of the trip involved taking a toll road. I was told the fee would be one dollar, and I made certain I had dollar bills available to pay.

I am not used to taking toll roads and I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. But I assumed I’d drive up to a booth and give my money to a person. That’s what I’d seen on toll roads in other parts of the country. This was not the case here, however. The booth was at the end of the road and there was no human in sight. A machine took the payment, and it only took coins. There was no barrier to keep a car from driving through without paying. But there was a prominent warning sign. It explained that there was a camera recording the cars that passed through, and the fine for failing to pay was 55 dollars.

I was stunned. I scrounged in my purse and didn’t come up with anything close to a dollar in coins. I put my car in park and ran back to a vehicle that had pulled up behind me. I asked the driver if he had a dollar in change to trade for my bill. But he’d been caught by surprise as well, and was scrounging for coins himself.

I rushed back to my car and dug deeper. Somehow I found 60 cents. One dime fell from my hands to the driver’s side floor mat. Just then the other driver appeared at my window saying he could give me 35 cents. But that was all he had to spare. I retrieved the fallen dime…but was still a nickel short. I’m sure I was praying as I dug some more. Miraculously, I found the last nickel.

I can’t describe the relief that washed over me as I threw all my coins in the slot, watched the light turn green, and sped off down the ramp to my friends. Just like my dog, I couldn’t have redeemed myself. Thankfully, God brought another driver who could supply exactly what I lacked to save me from the hefty fine I would have been assessed.

As I reflected on these two incidents, I realized they had some significant things in common. In both instances, there was a set price for redemption. In both instances, outside help was needed to pay. And for this reason, both situations offer an earthly window into a far greater heavenly truth—that we need a Savior to pay the price for our sin.

According to Hebrews 9:22, “The law requires that nearly everything be cleansed with blood, and without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness.” In Old Testament times, God’s people observed a complicated system of animal sacrifice. But this payment only served as temporary redemption. New sins required new sacrifices.

Not so the sacrifice of God’s Son. When Jesus, our Messiah, the Lamb of God, gave His sinless life for our sins, it redeemed us once and for all time—if we put our faith in Him. Hebrews 9:11-12 explains, “When Christ came as high priest of the good things that are now already here, he went through the greater and more perfect tabernacle that is not made with human hands, that is to say, is not a part of this creation. He did not enter by means of the blood of goats and calves; but he entered the Most Holy Place once for all by his own blood, thus obtaining eternal redemption.”

When Munchie was redeemed from that shelter, he still couldn’t care for himself. He needed a loving master to nurture him. Angie made certain this need was met and I am privileged to be Munchie’s new human mommy and adoring caregiver. When I was redeemed from sin by faith in my loving Messiah, He led me to believers who could nurture me and grow me in my faith. He is still providing for my spiritual nurture—and using me to provide it for others.

Angie delights in saving dogs from death and placing them in loving families. God delights in saving us and adopting us into His. Have you let Him redeem you so you can spend eternity in His care?

Giving is true having.

C
HARLES
H
ADDON
S
PURGEON

C
hrista’s father had endured an emotionally difficult year. He’d lost a best friend to cancer. A friend’s marriage had imploded. And when his beloved five-year-old Jack Russell terrier was stricken with a degenerative neck injury, he was the one who took Sammy to the vet to be put down. It was especially painful because Sammy was a lap dog and Dad’s lap was Sammy’s lap of choice to curl up on.

Christa and her family knew Dad was in a season of loss and grieving, so when Father’s Day loomed on the horizon, it was imperative to find an uplifting present. They wanted something that would lift his burdens and bring a long-term smile to his face. Up until now, tools had always been the gift category that never failed to please Dad. Screwdriver sets, drills, and saws had been greatly appreciated over the years. But now Dad had every tool he needed. And the hardware store had yet to carry a reliable tool to chase away the blues.

On the day Sammy was put down, Christa’s mom was at the drug store buying Dad a pet sympathy card when the check-out clerk asked about her loss and mentioned that her dog had recently given birth to a beautiful litter of shih tzu/Maltese-mix puppies—perhaps just the solution for Dad’s empty lap syndrome. Intrigued, Mom viewed photos of the puppies on the clerk’s cell phone right there at the register. They were adorable! Available for Father’s Day delivery too. A few hours later, while Dad took a nap, Christa, her younger brother, and mom snuck out of the house to visit the puppies in person. It was love at first sight. Even the younger brother who’d been opting for a Rottweiler was won over. They all agreed: the lone little boy in the litter could be the perfect Father’s Day gift for Dad.

Could be, not would be. It wasn’t a sure thing. Christa and her family had a few details to mull over. They wanted to surprise Dad, but what if he didn’t like this puppy? What if the puppy didn’t like him? They hadn’t discussed getting a new dog as a family. What if, after losing Sammy, Dad wasn’t ready for a replacement?

Christa considered showing her dad the pictures. She thought about having him accompany them to look at the puppies and make his own choice. But finally, they decided that surprise was to be a crucial element of this Father’s Day gift.

Christa’s mom emailed the three other siblings who were no longer living at home. Everyone agreed the boy was the one. They all pitched in money to share the cost of the new puppy and hoped and prayed he would be right for Dad.

On Father’s Day, while Dad was still asleep, his family woke up at 6:00 a.m. and tiptoed out to gather the dog, bed, and food. With the puppy safely concealed in a picnic basket under a mound of fabric, they snuck everything under the kitchen table before Dad awoke. The tension was as thick as a special ops military maneuver, especially with worrying whether or not this puppy would bark and ruin the surprise. Mom made Dad a cup of coffee as the kids led him into the kitchen. As he sat down, he quizzically looked under the table at the picnic basket. That’s when it jumped, and Dad made eye contact with his Father’s Day gift peeking out from under the red and white gingham. All he could say was, “How amazing!” He picked up the furry little guy and put him on his lap. Perfect fit. As the out-of-town kids phoned home, Dad said the same thing he said to those at the house, “It was the best gift ever!”

The newest member of this coffee-loving family was soon christened Maxwell Starbucks Evans III (Max for short).

The best gift ever!

Christa’s family was amazed at how a tiny little guy like Max could lift a weight not even a forklift could budge—Dad’s downcast spirit and heavy heart. The family thanked God for the miracle of a puppy.

Likewise, God sent another “tiny” miracle to lift off the immeasurable burden of sin from the human race. In His wisdom, God didn’t materialize His only Son, Jesus, into the world as a sandal-wearing, bearded adult, but as an innocent little baby in a manger.

Like a puppy in a picnic basket.

Like the reason we celebrate Christmas.

The best gift ever!

Kind words can be short and easy to speak,
but their echoes are truly endless.

M
OTHER
T
ERESA

I
shed actual tears of laughter over a humorous tidbit of writing that made the rounds on the Internet years ago. It was about how to give a cat a pill. In the course of multiple tries, the house and the human were wrecked, and the pill never did go down. This delightful essay ended with how to give a dog a pill—just wrap it in something tasty and it’s gobbled right up.

Alas, when my little Pomeranian, Becca, got a tooth root abscess, my vet prescribed a liquid medication.

My initial, clumsy efforts to administer this liquid with a dropper threatened to give me a cat-type experience with my dog. I tried to force the dropper into her mouth and she freaked out. I may have gotten a little bit of liquid into her, but clearly this was not going to work. I called the vet’s office and begged for a pill substitute. They said they’d arrange it.

Then, I had a sudden revelation. Maybe something sweet would help the liquid medication go down. I had a little plum jam in the fridge. I knew grapes and raisins were toxic to dogs, but plums weren’t on the poison list. And the jam was sweetened with sugar rather than something like xylitol, which can be fatal to dogs in even tiny amounts. Maybe I could mix Becca’s medicine with a dab of this jam and get her to lick it off the bottom of her dish. I administered the next dose this way…and Becca slurped it right up.

This experience taught me a lot about myself. I had gone into authoritarian mode, focusing only on the task of getting the needed medicine down Becca’s throat. I hadn’t stopped to think how rough and scary this must feel to her—and my own fears about her fighting the dropper made my efforts needlessly clunky. Once I took a step back, I realized there was a kinder, gentler way to get the task accomplished. That little bit of sweet changed the taste of her medicine just enough that my dog licked it up happily and without the stress.

I have experienced this plum jam principle in my own life too. In my case the medicine was career-related. Years ago I wrote for animated television shows. At one point, I was on staff with a major studio. I was blessed to have a story editor supervising me who had not only won numerous awards, but was a marvelous mentor. I was struggling, though. I felt frustrated and inadequate. I was terrified of failure. Not just my job, but my self-esteem, hung in the balance. This was not an optimal emotional place from which to learn.

My mentor was an encourager. One day, he said something to me that was balm to my battered self-image. He had been pleased by the emotional thrust of one of my stories. He told me I had the heart to do this kind of writing—and the rest could be learned. Those words of kindness and encouragement were like plum jam. They cut the bitter taste of how much I still had left to work on—and gave hope and the will to go on.