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Not a Puppy Escapes His Notice

“What will you do with two dogs?” they asked me.

“I guess the same thing we do with two babies,” I answered. Which in retrospect did not make sense, or mean much of anything. I spend day and night taking care of two babies. They fill my house and life. Where in this equation do the dogs fit?

This morning made me seriously reconsider that statement, as well as the decision that led us to bring my old dog, Bitsy, home to babysit. With my mom far away in Texas, my dog that still lives with my mom needed another home–but had she felt at home yesterday, when Curly and the two babies chased her around the house, and Ellie landed on her back with a plop that left Bitsy yelping and snarling and the babies wailing in terror? The babies, if not Curly, have only the best intentions toward the 12 year-old tiny fluff ball–but they don’t understand a “curly” that runs away and growls when they get too intimate. The Curly they know routinely knocks them over to wash their faces–and they take it all in stride. This little Pomeranian makes them gaze with puzzled expression–and pursue closer acquaintance.

Could it all have been too much for Bitsy? I wondered this morning, when we found she was missing. Was she trotting for her old home, looking for life the way it once was, with a broken heart? Maybe she would be hit as she wondered lost and lonely and confused, and that would be the sad, sad end of our relationship that had started when I brought that adorable scrap of fluff home when I was sixteen. In the end, she would die feeling I had failed her. She would die far from the beautiful fields of Juniata County. She would die wandering the desolate streets of Wilkes-Barre.

I did all the things. I called Animal Control, the animal shelter, and the police department. No one had seen a little orange Pomeranian with white markings.

Ben drove the streets searching and searching. I tried to go out one more time to look in our alley for her–in my bathrobe. I shut the babies inside, but the other dog, Curly, escaped, and ran back and forth on the street, refusing to come to me, and I chased her like a mad woman in my fuzzy bathrobe, until she ran into a neighbor’s house and they delivered her to me. At that point I decided that I needed to stay inside with the babies and dog I had left.

But I kept praying. All morning I prayed. Ben nonchalantly assumed she would probably turn up, when we couldn’t find her anywhere, and we went to a greenhouse. But I was dejected. I told God that if he could see sparrows when they fell that he knew where Bitsy was, and could he please take care of that very small dog?

I was fastening unhappy babies into their car-seats at the greenhouse, before we left, and thinking again of Bitsy.

“Dear God,” I prayed, “please let someone call me about her!”

And my phone started ringing in the front of the car!

When we got back home, our next door neighbor brought her to our house–she said she was so sweet and told how she had enjoyed spending a few hours with her. Bitsy had probably enjoyed the experience of being pampered at a house with no babies.

All this to say that God sees even the tiny puppies among us–bring your small, fluffy concerns to Him today. He cares.

And so I pray again for a small, fluffy puppy, that she would remain safe at our home until my mom collects her and takes her back to the hills of Juniata. I would rather not repeat this morning’s events–even if Bitsy would.

This Post Has 4 Comments

  1. So glad to hear that you got her back and that she’s not wandering the desolate streets of Wilkes-Barre, looking unsuccessfully for the wide open fields of the farm and country.

    1. Yes!!

  2. Love your style, Alison! And so happy for answers to prayers when we hardly dare to hope even as we speak.
    Thanks for taking time in your busy life to share your thoughts and words with us!
    Blessings rest upon you!

    1. Thank you! ❣️

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