Here’s a little conversation I overheard between Lily and Emmy while they were playing with our children’s Nativity set:
“Say sheep!”
“Baa!”
“Say sheep!”
“Baa!”
“Say lamb!”
“Baa!”
“Say baa!”
“Baa!”
Earlier this afternoon, we had been out running errands; Lily had a haircut, and I wanted a new sweater for our family photos. It was snowing; a wet, sloppy snow. As I was driving home, stopped at a red light, I saw a small, white dog trying to climb up a snow pile. She had on a little pink sweater, and was heading straight for the road. This road has no sidewalk, and I couldn’t see anyone with the dog. The dog looked really confused, cold and wet. I didn’t know what to do. Here I was, on my way home with my two girls in the car. No one else was stopping for this dog. Cars were slowing down, but everyone kept driving past. I circled around in a parking lot at the corner, trying to make up my mind: should I just go home, or get the dog?
By this time, the dog was in the middle of the road and acting very confused. That made up my mind. I pulled over next to the dog, scooped her up in my arms and put her in the passenger seat. She was shivering and whimpering. Emmy wasn’t sure what to make of this dog, and she started whimpering, too! I pulled into the subdivision which was the most likely place the dog had come from. One of her eyes looked funny, like maybe she was blind in that eye. But she was a good little dog, and never nipped at me or tried to bite. She was soaking wet, and seemed to be very scared. I called the number on her tag, which was a county number. The woman on the phone gave me the home owner’s phone number and address, and so I called the number. No answer. Now what?
I drove down the street, looking for the right address, intending to ring the doorbell. There was a car in front of me that pulled over to the curb. A man, looking rather worried, got out. I shouted to him, “Are you looking for a dog?” The look on his face was instant relief. The dog belongs to his mother. She is elderly, and after she let the dog out, she fell asleep. The dog wandered off; when she woke up, she was frantic and called her son.
Even though I was soaked and smelled like wet dog, I’m really glad I did the right thing. If I had left that little white dog with the pink sweater on the side of the road, I would have worried about her all afternoon. And I actually set a good example for my daughters. Although I really don’t want them touching strange dogs. But you know what I mean.