Neanderpundit

A couple of weeks ago, a good friend and colleague of mine told me a story I didn’t want to hear. A story about a hole in a fence, a story about two missing dogs.

Others in our community sought to cast aspersions, told her to “get over it and move on”, told her “Sooner or later you gotta stop pining and move on with your life”, that kind of thing. All, in my mind, pretty fucking rude.

Me, I sympathised. You see, Thomas, on the left, came to my friend an orphan, with twisted limbs from a condition known as Hypertrophic osteodystrophy, a disease which causes swelling and unspeakable pain in the joints. My friend worked with Thomas every day and made sure he had the meds and nutrition he needed to outgrow his sore paws and become the big healthy mutt you see there. Buster, the other dog, is the son of my friends black lab, a second generation beloved companion.

I understand what it’s like to lose a family pet, for reasons I’d rather just not discuss. Whatever the case, I got the pain, I got the fear, I got the sorrow, I understood.Unfortunately, a dog lost a week is usually a goner, if it doesn’t find it’s way home in a couple of days they’re usually dead.

My friend lives several hundred miles away, and there’s not a damned thing I can do to help, but pray. Pray I do, because I wouldn’t wish that pain on anyone.

You see, I got this theory about prayer. I always figure, the Creator listens to billions of prayers a day. A lot of them are from devout, decent people.

I figure my prayers hit harder, work better, because I’m such a right bastard that when God hears me, he listens up: “Wonder what THIS jerk wants?” If it’s not for me, and it’s a reasonable request, I think he sometiomes comes across.

No, this theory probably isn’t right, but it gives me comfort in the small hours when people I care about are hurting.

On the other hand, the dogs are home. After a couple of weeks of searching, and nearly despairing, my friend woke in the night to hear a familiar bark at the front door. The boys came home, skinny and tired, but alive and healthy. They spend a lot of time sleeping and eating now, but they’re home. I’m almost as happy they’re home as they are.

Miracles happen, folks. Merry Christmas!

Update: I don’t want to make it sound like I did this; I did not. Believe me, my friends yearning to have these dogs at home again would have drawn them back home on it’s own, like the relentless drag an Oklahoma trailer park has for a force 4 twister. But still: I will waste NO opportunity to say, once again, Miracles DO happen. Merry Christmas!!!!