The Thanksgiving Dog

It was a few days before Thanksgiving. A cold front had come through during the night; I woke to find that the outside temperature had dipped to around 20 degrees. I went through my morning routine: put the coffee on, read the Bible and a chapter from the book I was currently reading, and then pulled on my running gear and headed out the door for my exercise.

During the first mile of my run, I began thinking about my sister, Dede. She’s been gone 25 years now, but for some reason, I began thinking of her again. I always seem to think of her around Thanksgiving. The few years between her diagnosis and her death from cancer were good ones in the sense of all of us being together. Even that last Thanksgiving, when the effects of the chemotherapy and her increasingly-frail appearance made me feel awkward at having too much fun or laughing too loudly was a good one.

As the sun rose, the beauty of the fall foliage began to blossom and I said a prayer of thanks to God for the simple joy of seeing those colors and of being able to run. I checked my watch: I was slightly behind pace for this part of the course I ran three days each week. My body felt heavy, but what did I expect? This is how it is when you’re thirty pounds overweight.

Running through one of the more scenic neighborhoods in the last two miles of my run, I caught sight of a dog coming toward me. Her tail was wagging, a cute little Labrador retriever. She wasn’t a puppy, but also wasn’t fully grown. I stopped to pet her.

My, she was friendly! She soaked up the patting and stroking around her face and head. I told her “get on home” and started running again. She fell into step right behind me. I stopped and patted her a bit more, and this time said in a firmer voice, “now you go home!” Again, she backed off, but then started following as soon as I turned around.

I turned and ran toward her, this time with a louder voice: “Go home!” she backed off about a dozen yards and looked at me over her shoulder. I started running. She caught up to me and ran alongside me.  A mile and a half later, we were at my house. “Well”, I muttered, “you might as well come in the back yard”.  She watched me check the fish in the koi pond, and as she nuzzled up next to me, I saw that there was no tag on her collar. I reasoned, “Maybe I’d better keep her here, until I can find her owner. If she lives near where I found her, she’s far away from there now.” No sooner had the thought come to me when she sniffed her way outside the fence. I followed her and called to her. Once again she looked over her shoulder, and with a nonchalant air went trotting down the street, heading even farther away from the area where I’d found her. I called and clucked and clapped, but she just kept walking. She was through with me.

When my wife Georgia came home that evening, I told her about the dog. “She’s got to belong to someone”, I said. “I hope she doesn’t get run over.” She replied, “Hmmm…”. She’s used to strange little stories about what I see when I’m running.

Sunday night we went to a Sunday School class party, and were seated next to David and Shelly. I hadn’t gotten to know them as well as I hoped, and this would give us a chance to chat. Midway through the meal, Shelly’s cell phone rang. I could tell she was talking to one of her children. I heard her say, “No, we can’t. No!. I said no. Here, talk to your father”. She handed the phone to David.

We continued our conversation with another couple at the table. When David was through on the phone, I asked, “one of your kids?”

“Yes”, he said, “our son. He found a dog and it’s at our house. He wanted to know if we could keep it. He said she was really cute.”

I spoke up “Yellow lab? Leather collar, no tag?” Yes, it was her.

By the end of the meal, we had made arrangements to pick up the dog on our way home. David said they had a kennel we could borrow. We loaded her up, and dropped by the grocery store to buy some dog food.

We tried putting her in the kennel that night, but she whined and cried so much that we put some towels on the floor in our bedroom. She spent the night there and seemed quite contented.

I watched the newspapers and looked around the neighborhood for signs that might say “Lost dog”. Nothing appeared. We placed an ad. No response. Days passed. On Monday, we called our boys at college to tell them we had a dog – they had wanted one for some time – but made sure they knew that we were just keeping her until we could locate her owner. However, they would be home for Thanksgiving next week, and we wanted them to know the good news that we would have an extra guest. Georgia said she would take her for walks. She bought a leash while she was out. Two more days passed. I taught her a couple of tricks. She was good at “sit” and “lay down”, but “shake” was going to take awhile.

I watched the newspapers; I looked on the local radio station website (it has a “lost and found” section). Nothing. We began to discuss what we would name her. I told some friends about the new dog. I went out and bought some wire mesh fencing, to put up on the one section of the back yard where the wrought iron had gaps she might squeeze through. I finished that project, and headed off to work.

And then, on Thursday I looked in the classifieds and saw an ad that read. “Lost Dog. Golden Lab, 9 months old…” I called the number, and the woman at the other end identified her. She made arrangements to come by that evening to pick up the dog. I hung up the phone, and I felt like crying. And then my eyes started tearing up, and tears were flowing down my cheeks. I emailed Georgia with the news. She replied and said, “I can’t stand this kind of pain.” We’d only had her for a few days, but I guess we’d grown pretty attached.

For a few minutes, it felt like we had lost something that was ours, which we really wanted. But the truth was that we hadn’t lost anything we didn’t have before that dog came to live with us. What had really happened is that for a few days, we got to share some love with that dog and feed it and pet it and play with her and she brought joy to our house. We didn’t have anything taken away from us that was ours. We had something given to us that we didn’t earn or deserve. I guess the real problem was that we wanted to keep and hold onto and own that gift.

But that’s now how it is. When we talk about “ultimate truths”, try this one on for size: everything is a gift. None of us caused ourselves to be born. And whatever life brings us – even if we work hard for it – is only ours because we have been given the gift of life. We didn’t earn this life, it was a gift – and scientists may be able to explain sexual reproduction, but no scientist can explain the miracle of life.

I thought of Dede again, and how her illness helped our family. It caused us to see things more clearly. Before she was diagnosed, we were all living such busy lives; we would get together when we could but hey, we had lots to do and besides, there was always next time. What her illness made us see was that our time together was very precious, and that we had no guarantees that we would be able to gather like that again. That, in fact had always been the case. It’s just that we allowed so many other things to get in the way of seeing what a precious thing each and every day is. Somehow, her illness helped us see more clearly what we had. God was with us. God had blessed us. God had given us each other. God had given us today. And today, I have the chance to share some love with those I meet.

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Dr. Kevin Tully is pastor of the First United Methodist Church of Waxahachie, Texas.

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