J.R. the Lifesaver

If you're a follower of my blog, you know that in early August, I adopted a 3-year-old dachshund named J.R. It's now November, and he is definitely a member of the family. And, he, quite simply, adores me. Almost as much as he adores his older Labrador sister, Julie.

As I've previously mentioned, J.R. sort of stole my heart away with his sad eyes and lonely soul. Little did I know when I opened my heart to that long little wiener dog, that he would be the means that God used to change my life in a major way.

When J.R. came to me, he had a severe problem with his back, and the vet said that part of his recovery would need to be walking every day and losing some of the extra weight that he was carrying. Once his back began to heal, J.R. and I began a daily routine of walking each evening when I got home from work. After about two months of walking, I was having severe pain in my left leg which eventually became so severe that I finally gave in and went to see my doctor. After several rounds of tests, I was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes. To say that my life has drastically changed would be a grand understatement ... medication, new diet, lots of exercise and checking my blood sugar three times each day.

The day that I met with my doctor and she told me the diagnosis, she ended our conversation with these words: "I know that you said that you rescued J.R. and saved him from death. I want you to know that he actually saved your life. You are lucky that you didn't go to sleep one night, slip into a coma and not wake up the next morning. That little dog saved you, Terrie, he saved your life."

God works in such mysterious ways in our lives, and He chose to use a fat little dog to work in mine. I believe that J.R. was meant to be with me, and I believed that from the moment he came into my home. As is so often the case, I had no idea just how big God's plan was ... no idea at all.

So, remember, God can take all things, both big and small, and work them for good in the lives of those who love Him. J.R. has taught me many things over the last four months, not the least of which is a new appreciation for the life God has given me.

Rescue Me

A few months ago, my son and daughter-in-law became foster parents ... not for children, mind you, but for dachshunds. Yes, that's right, foster parents for doggies. They have had several furry friends pass through their lives, each one of them gaining a special place in their hearts and their home. Andy, their little dog, loves having new friends come, and he has gotten so attached to a couple of the fosters that he is a sad puppy when they move on to their "furever" homes.

Three weeks ago, Matt and Becca were going out of town for a weekend to celebrate Matt's birthday, and they asked if I would keep Andy while they were away. Andy always stays with me when they travel ... he loves his "Grandma Terrie," and he loves playing with my lab, Julie. This particular weekend, Matt and Becca had just gotten another foster dog named J.R. He had lived a hard three years, being born into a puppy mill and suffering a great deal of abuse. He was afraid of everything and everyone, which was understandable given his background.

When Matt asked if they could bring J.R. to me as well, I was less than excited about keeping a strange dog, especially one who had some significant trust issues. As I always do, I caved in and agreed to keep both of the hounds for the weekend.

Within a few short hours, J.R. decided that I was the greatest person on earth and deserved an exorbitant amount of love and affection from him, needed to have my every step mirrored by him, and most certainly would cherish having a fat little dog sleep cuddled next to me at night. In short, this dog worshipped and adored me.

By Saturday morning, his devotion to me was apparent as he gazed at me with his sad eyes that alluded to a much older spirit than his years would dictate. There was no playful puppy in this boy; he was sad ... sadder than any dog I've ever seen. I told myself over and over that the last thing I needed was another dog to care for; after all, I travel a great deal speaking to women's groups. And I have a big dog already. And dogs cost a lot. And he's fat and will need special food and to be walked every day. No playing Frisbee in the backyard to get his exercise like Julie does. Nope, I certainly don't need a dog, not to mention a high-maintenance one at that.

By the time Sunday arrived, I found myself calling Matt and Becca to ask what I needed to do to keep J.R. I simply couldn't bear the thought of him going anywhere where he might be abused again. And did I mention that he adores me? So when Matt and Becca came to pick up Andy, J.R. stayed with me and Julie. He found his "furever" home and completely stole my heart.

When I mentioned to Matt that I didn't understand why this dog had touched my heart the way he had, Matt wisely reminded me that I know what abuse feels like and thus felt J.R.'s pain and suffering. Smart kid, that son of mine. So now I'm walking two miles a day with Julie and J.R. Julie has the time of her life on the walking path, dragging me along like a fish on a line. J.R. manages to keep up with her and loves our walks each day. And me? Well, I've lost several pounds in the last three weeks, which is a bonus for me.

I am thankful that God in His infinite wisdom created animals for us as humans to love and care for. You see, I thought I was rescuing J.R., but it turns out that he's rescuing me right back.

Woman's Best Friend

As I sit on the couch and begin to place my words of wisdom into this post, there is a yellowish furry creature pawing at my arm. She is trying her best to discourage me from typing and encourage me into playing tug of war with her instead. Her name is Julie, and she is a 65-pound yellow Labrador Retriever my son rescued from a shelter two years ago.

I've had dogs in my life for as long as I can remember, beginning with a little white dog named Frisky when I was nine years old. Then there was Rocky, Brandy, Cocoa, Choo-Choo, Ali and Cinnamon. One of those died when she was only two, and one lived to the ripe old age of 17. I remember each one of them, and I remember the special place they each held in my life.

Julie, however, is different than any other dog I've had. I can't say that I love her more, because I loved each pup deeply. I can say that I'm not sure that I've ever had a dog who loves me the way Julie does. Julie liked me well enough when Brad brought her home, but she adored Brad. And I do mean adored. She slept with him every night, followed him everywhere, and moped when he had to go to work or school. When Brad left for college and couldn't take Julie with him, she was one sad dog.

Then, one morning Julie woke up and decided that I was her new best friend. She began following me the way she followed Brad. She would wait until I was asleep, and then she would crawl into my bed and sleep with her head across my feet. When I had to go to work, she would tuck her tail between her legs and mope. I found myself looking forward to evening play time with Julie, throwing the Frisbee for her spectacular catches until she decided it was time to stop. Taking walks along the paved path across the street. And yes, talking to her as if she were human. (She does, after all, tilt her head and listen attentively!)

At this particular time in my life when my sons have moved out, and my daughter works two jobs and is rarely home, I spend a fair amount of time alone. I believe that God is the Creator of all things, and that He created animals, and dogs in particular, to bring a certain type of joy into our lives at times when we need that joy the most.

So, when I step out of the shower each morning and Julie is lying on the rug next to the tub, or when I come home from work and she greets me at the door, or when she plants a wet doggie kiss on my arm, or when I am sick and she sits patiently by my side until I am well, I thank God for my faithful furry companion.

As I finish typing, Julie is stretched out on the other end of the couch. Well, sort of, anyway. Her head is snuggled across my feet, and she's snoring. I guess it must be time to turn in for the night.