Reservoir Dogs.

A couple weeks ago I was delivering Drew to a boy scout campout, early on Saturday morning. I got lost, despite having a GPS in the car, because the other scout dads with which I had chatted that morning before we all took off in our own cars said "Oh, just go to La Cygne. It's not that big. Then turn right at State Line, or something? Its right there.

I should have known, right then, that I was in trouble. Also, the lat/long listed on the website for this location was wrong, and had too many digits. Again, a sign I should have heeded. But no, I am adventurous mom! So I just took off driving for La Cygne and figured I'd find it.

Yeah. Not so much.

After finally getting a hold of a dad with a clue and an internal GPS chip in his phone who could text me the lat/long of his exact location for the love of God, We started down the right highway. For the record, the place we were looking for isn't actually in La Cygne, Kansas, or anywhere really near it. It's actually in Missouri. That would have been helpful.

 

As I turned off of highway 69 onto 52 toward Amoret, I saw traffic stopped up ahead, and what looked like a black calf running down the middle of the road. No kidding, I thought it was a baby cow. As I got closer I realized it was a dog. A very big one. Being who I am, and if you've ever read my Facebook profile you already know this part, I pulled over.

 

Drew sighed and said, "you're going to put that dog in the truck with us, aren't you, mom?"

"Yup. Get the extra collar out from under the seat."

I stepped out of my truck, clapped my hands together and said, "Come here, baby." He galloped up to me and put his face in my hands and tried to walk between my legs. He was trying to get into my lap, while I was standing.

He was hungry and muddy and cold, it had been raining lightly for a while and was cold the night before. But his toenails were trimmed and his coat was glossy, this was a well cared for dog. I didn't really know what I was going to do with him, but I wasn't going to leave him running along that highway looking for someone to take him in. I opened the hatch of my truck, tapped the floor with my hand, and he jumped in without any more encouragement.

We went on to drop off Drew at the scout campout. Boy Scouts apparently love a good dog rescue story. Somebody pulled a pan of leftover scrambled eggs out of the trash, and the dog ate it all in about a minute. And then he laid down at my feet, and rested. The boys named him Scout.

Here's the thing. As I pulled over on the side of the highway it hit me. This is why I was lost - I was supposed to find this dog. If I had been on the right route and not wasted an hour finding my way, I would have missed him.

God speaks to me in tiny epiphanies. I haven't heard much from him lately, what with leaving my job at the church and the drama that went down as part of that (which I will not be discussing here, but trust me, there was drama.) When my grandmother died and we went to Springfield for her funeral and visited with family, I heard nothing. But for some reason that Saturday on the side of a country highway, I got the message, loud and clear.

I brought him back to Kansas City with me, unsure if I was doing him any favors. I've talked to some vets down in that area and a local rescue organization in Louisburg. He had no collar, and wasn't microchipped. People, listen to me. MICROCHIP YOUR PETS. It's easy, it's relatively cheap (we paid $45 for Max when he was a puppy, and they did it while he was under anesthesia to be fixed so he didn't even know.) Some rescue groups even do it for free.

Speaking of Max, when I introduced him to my new friend, they sniffed each other for a few minutes and then settled down together under the kitchen table, at my feet. Uh, yeah, I'd say he's comfy with other dogs.

We've been calling him Bear, because he's as big as a black bear. Remember, when I first saw him I thought it was a calf running down the road. He is not a petite animal. He's kind of an oaf. But a sweet, very loving one. But he needs a home. He's being fostered for the time being by my brother, but they've discovered he needs a much bigger house and probably is used to running on some land. He needs more space. He needs somebody who likes big dogs, and who knows how to handle them. He needs somebody who wants and 80 lb. lapdog, but can let him run outside. He's not very graceful around breakable things (the tail, it wags hard enough to knock the remote off the coffee table.) With kids, he pretty much just rolls over so they can climb on top of him and rub his tummy. If this dog were to hurt someone, it would be out of a total lack of awareness of size and strength.

I was supposed to save this guy for a reason. I just don't know what it is yet.