There's an extra wiener in my house this week ... I'm granddog sitting my daughter and son-in-law's little doxie dog Peanut while they're in Canada visiting Matt, Becca and the girls. Ollie looks like a tank compared to Peanut ... he's a stocky tween-sized fellow, and she's the tiniest little long-haired wiener dog I've ever seen. A few years ago, I bought one of those double leash thingies thinking I might be able to walk Julie and J.R. together ... bad idea, by the way, but it works like a charm for walking Ollie and Peanut together.
It's not often that you see two wiener dogs sharing one leash, so we've garnered quite a bit of attention over the last few days as we've walked together on the trail. There have been tons of remarks like, "Oh, they're so adorable!" or "Look at those wiener dogs walking together!" or "They're so cute!" or "Can I pet them?" While it's been fun to witness the joy Ollie and Peanut have brought to so many people, I must admit that by the time we were almost home last night I was more than a little irritated because I felt that I had stopped for people to see the dogs so many times that I hadn't really gotten a good walk.
I was grumbling about my multi-stop walk as we neared the playground ... "Dogs, we might as well have just stayed home tonight because we did more stopping than walking." And of course, right in the middle of my grumbling, I hear a little kid's voice shouting, "Hey! Hey! Can I see your dogs?" I looked toward the playground to the left of the trail and saw him, and the minute I did, I knew ... I knew there was nothing more important ... there was nothing that mattered more ... there was nothing more worthy of my time than to say, "You sure can, buddy ... you sure can."
There are so many things I could say about my encounter last night with the little boy ... so many lessons and truths contained within the short time I was with him. Instead, I'm going to let the sweet little guy tell you himself ... you can find your own lessons and glean your own truths.
"What's their names?"
("This is Oliver and this is Peanut.")
"Oh. Hello, Oliver and Peanut. Can I touch the big one? Is he nice? The big one is Oliver."
("You sure can pet him, and he's very nice.")
"Can you put him in my lap so I can hold him? He won't bite me, will he?"
("Sure I can put him in your lap, and no he won't bite you. He might try to kiss you, though.")
"Mom, can you see I'm holding Oliver and he is kissing me?"
("That means he likes you. What's your name?")
"Davey. My name is Davey and this is Oliver sitting on my lap and now can Peanut sit on my lap with Oliver?"
("She sure can ... here you go. Look at you, Davey ... you have two dogs on your lap!")
"Do you know I have muscular dystrophy? And did you know this is my new chair?"
("I didn't know that ... that's a pretty awesome chair you've got there.")
"It's my legs ... this chair is my legs so I can walk over here and hold Oliver and Peanut."
("I sure am glad we got to meet you tonight, Davey ... we need to be heading home now.")
"Not yet. Not until you give me a hug. That's the rule. You can't go until you hug me."
Last night, I knelt down and hugged a little boy in a wheelchair ... a little boy I'd never met. There were tears in my eyes as I said goodbye. There were tears in the eyes of his mother as she thanked me for stopping. She thanked me for stopping ... sweet little Davey's mom had tears in her eyes as she said, "Thank you for stopping and talking to Davey." Ears wide open, friends ... ears wide open.
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