The Spaying

It seems that one's first blog post should be deep and profound, but I'm afraid mine is not. As I sit here locked in the guest room with a gaseous Great Dane, profundity escapes me. Since this blog is to be about my life, I reckon this post is as good as any to get the tale started.

We are adopting a 'puppy' through Great Dane Rescue here in Phoenix. She's 105 pounds and estimated to be 15 months old. She bites her nails, leaves bruises with her 'happy' tail, and eats her poop. She's overcoming Submissive Urination, has no leash training, and thinks she's the size of a chihuahua. How do we know this? She tries to sit in our laps.

Wednesday I got a call from rescue that Thursday was Spaying Day. Please don't give me too much advanced notice! The vet to which we needed to take her was a mobile unit parked in a driveway in a neighborhood 45 minutes from our house. We arrived with slobber and dog hair in odd places (Doug did not know that he had a huge slobber smear on the shoulder of his navy blue sweatshirt), and a nervous Dane who had nearly knocked us all unconscious with her gas passing. I so badly want to say 'fart', but I'm afraid it will offend you. But 'gas passing' sounds so delicate, and folks, there's nothing delicate about a Great Dane--well, you can just imagine. [On the trip home, a stench filled the van and my husband asked, "Is that you or the dog?"

He's such a romantic.]

We take Carly into the vet truck, and get her checked in. To my delight, she didn't pee for any of them! That's progress for a Submissive Urinator in therapy.

The day before, in talking with the woman who runs the rescue, I learned that she is really struggling. She's older, single, and lost her job a few months ago. As often happens to me, I asked how she was doing and she launched into a tearful tale for which she later apologized, "I'm sorry for bending your ear. I didn't mean to tell you all that."

But tell me she did, and therein my knowledge of her plight became my responsibility. I cannot save her house from foreclosure, and I can't fund her rescue efforts, but I CAN volunteer my husband to take a look at her plumbing problem that's been keeping her up for the past week as she fights to keep her laundry room from flooding. A pin hole leak had sprung in a pipe, and it was, for her, an insurmountable problem.

So, while Carly spent a few hours being rendered unable to reproduce her crazy self, we set off for Linda's house to fix her plumbing problem. My handy husband and his trusty (and beloved) tools, made a quick diagnosis, then he and Anna set off for Home Depot...and Taco Bell.

As we girls ate lunch, Doug changed a (I don't know what it's called) on the water heater, and it was done.

Then we listened. Linda is a lonely lady with a big heart that hurts. The dogs she rescues are her life. We sat in her tiny house surrounded by 4 Great Danes, an American Bulldog, a mix between the American Bulldog and a Pitbull, and a Chinese Crested (to pet this sweet little thing brings bile up into my throat. She's HAIRLESS. It's horrible.). In the vet mobile were two more Danes that Linda was bringing home yesterday afternoon to bring her TDIH (total dogs in house) tally to 9. NINE.

Wolfie
Winston
Stella
Charlie
Odin
Apache
Lucy
Lucy
Can't Remember

As we listened to Linda, I was distracted by my own life. My Blackberry brought me emails and phone calls, and reminded me of the work I had waiting back in my office. But in my spirit I knew that there in Linda's little living room was where we were supposed to be. Too many times she said, "You guys are so kind to me. You're so kind."

When the vet called to say the dogs were about ready, Linda told them we'd be there in 45 minutes, and she went on soaking up our company.

We picked up our groggy moose and waited while Linda loaded two into her van, and Anna went with her to keep the dogs calm. When she was alone with Anna she said, "What your parents have done for me...I can't...you're one of the nicest families--you ARE the nicest family I've ever met."

Do you see what I see here, my friends? A $13 piece of pipe, 10 minutes of plumbing work, a $3 quesedilla & pepsi (light ice), 3 hours of listening, our child offered to assist with dog transport...and we're the nicest family she's ever met.

I didn't have it on my agenda to spend yesterday listening, petting slobbering dogs, and eating Taco Bell with someone I don't know very well. Doug had no idea his plumbing repair would end up taking most of his day. Anna thought she was riding along to drop off the dog and come home.

Jesus has a way of overriding my daily agendas. I believe that yesterday Linda felt God's Spirit ministering to her hurting heart through us.

When Jesus says, "That's Me," I hope I hear Him every time.