I am admittedly not a dog lover. Of all my immediate family I am the only one without a dog. My mother used to be on the anti-dog team as well until in retirement she betrayed me and became a hopeless lover of her two labs, Amos and Andy (we recently discovered the epitome of all dog-lover-ness…pictures of her dogs with bows on…sick). So Christmas found the whole family together with four dogs at our feet. “They’d make great Korean dog stew”, I kept saying as everyone would gasp in horror at the thought of their faithful friends being stewed up for dinner.Then a Christmas miracle wandered into our backyard.
It was Christmas Eve. We were getting ready to head to church. Someone happened to notice a strange dog in the backyard. Living in a rural area on 160 acres it’s quite peculiar when a strange dog comes wandering through. Going out the back door we saw the black and white dog; it was some kind of setter and obviously a hunting dog. As soon as I called out it ran into the woods and was gone. Not wanting to be late, we headed to church and forgot about the whole thing.
Now, Christmas morning actually had two miracles. The first was that my four year old nephew slept past 8am. The second and real miracle happened soon after. Amos, my parent’s chocolate lab, was outside. Someone happened to notice that the black and white dog was back and playing with Amos in the front yard. Going out, my dad called to his dog. The strange dog followed Amos as he came to the house. At this point, my mom and sister had gone out on the porch as well. As the dog got close enough to see clearly there was a collective gasp. The dog was completely emaciated; you could clearly see each rib and each vertebra along his spine. He was shivering uncontrollably. Without thinking he was brought inside. Naturally, with four other dogs, there was an immediate commotion. Someone was grabbing a blanket. Another was checking his tags. Another was pulling Buddy, my sister’s mut, off the stray. It was evident that this poor dog had been well cared for. He had an expensive hunting collar on and tags identifying him as ‘Jake’. There was also a phone number and address. Strangely, the address was Pinconning, a town about 50 miles east of my parent’s. The natural conclusion was that Jake had been separated from his owner while hunting in the State game refuge just 4-5 miles north. There was of course the fear that he’d been abandoned but everyone ruled that out since his tags and expensive hunting collar were still on. My dad immediately picked up the phone and called. Voicemail. He left a message as we gave Jake a little food which he devoured instantly, looking up longingly for more. With nothing to do but wait, we continued on with our Christmas morning. All the while we discussed the possibilities. “Maybe the owner is a snowbird and is in Florida.” Or from my more pessimistic sister, “Maybe the owner dropped dead hunting and is lying out in the state land.” Jake plopped down on the living room rug, exhausted and noticeably a bit overwhelmed by the commotion of Christmas morning at the Shellenbargers. Soon, the room filled with an unpleasant odor. It seemed that, though Jake would survive, his digestive track was having a little trouble. Instead of smells of Christmas breakfast and fresh coffee, we opened our presents amid the stench of dog fart.
The day progressed like any other Christmas day. Napping, grazing, playing with new toys, and general laziness. Mid-afternoon I left to pick up a friend that was coming for dinner. Returning home I immediately got an update on the Jake saga. The owner had called in tears and disbelief that Jake was alive. “So you have him? You didn’t just SEE him! Right?!” It turned out that Jake had been lost on December 11th in western Arenac County, some two weeks and 20+ miles east of where we live. Jake had wandered that far in the snow and bitter cold and somehow ended up in our yard on Christmas morning. A freaking Christmas miracle. Here we were, experiencing our very own Christmas episode of “Lassie” or “Milo and Otis”. The owner, Bob, excitedly told my mom that he would be there the next day. After dinner we all settled in for another movie and the continued onslaught of Jake’s digestive issues.
Bob showed up as promised the next day. It would be easy to get overly sentimental here. Really it was just a quiet moment between a man and his dog. Jake visibly perked up at the sight of Bob coming to the door. His demeanor changed. He sat attentively with perfect poise as Bob stroked his head over and over. We exchanged respective ends of the story and all marveled at how Jake had survived in frigid weather. This man clearly loved his dog and doted on him while thanking us profusely. Even more, Bob relayed how Jake was a constant companion to his 83 year old Father who was home alone each day while Bob was at work. Jake turning up had been the perfect way to celebrate Christmas for everyone. And I knew he was a special dog because I didn’t openly wish for him to be a dish in a Korean family’s Christmas dinner.
It was indeed our own little Christmas miracle. Now, I’m definitely not saying that this miracle is on par with the miracle of Baby Jesus, that of the Virgin conceiving and giving birth to the Son of God and millions of angels appearing in the sky singing Christmas carols. There is no greater miracle or meaning for what we just celebrated. So, though it may never pass the Vatican’s criteria for a true, bonafide miracle, I’m content to say that it’s a pretty freaking awesome story. It is a sort of Americana, feel-good- on-Christmas kind of miracle. And as a good blogger, I should probably now transition into some spiritual truth I learned. Let’s be honest, this story is rife with great analogies and spiritual truths. But I think I’ll leave the analogizing to you, my intelligent reader, and end by wishing you a belated Merry Christmas. May the wayward come home and your dog not have gas.
It was Christmas Eve. We were getting ready to head to church. Someone happened to notice a strange dog in the backyard. Living in a rural area on 160 acres it’s quite peculiar when a strange dog comes wandering through. Going out the back door we saw the black and white dog; it was some kind of setter and obviously a hunting dog. As soon as I called out it ran into the woods and was gone. Not wanting to be late, we headed to church and forgot about the whole thing.
Now, Christmas morning actually had two miracles. The first was that my four year old nephew slept past 8am. The second and real miracle happened soon after. Amos, my parent’s chocolate lab, was outside. Someone happened to notice that the black and white dog was back and playing with Amos in the front yard. Going out, my dad called to his dog. The strange dog followed Amos as he came to the house. At this point, my mom and sister had gone out on the porch as well. As the dog got close enough to see clearly there was a collective gasp. The dog was completely emaciated; you could clearly see each rib and each vertebra along his spine. He was shivering uncontrollably. Without thinking he was brought inside. Naturally, with four other dogs, there was an immediate commotion. Someone was grabbing a blanket. Another was checking his tags. Another was pulling Buddy, my sister’s mut, off the stray. It was evident that this poor dog had been well cared for. He had an expensive hunting collar on and tags identifying him as ‘Jake’. There was also a phone number and address. Strangely, the address was Pinconning, a town about 50 miles east of my parent’s. The natural conclusion was that Jake had been separated from his owner while hunting in the State game refuge just 4-5 miles north. There was of course the fear that he’d been abandoned but everyone ruled that out since his tags and expensive hunting collar were still on. My dad immediately picked up the phone and called. Voicemail. He left a message as we gave Jake a little food which he devoured instantly, looking up longingly for more. With nothing to do but wait, we continued on with our Christmas morning. All the while we discussed the possibilities. “Maybe the owner is a snowbird and is in Florida.” Or from my more pessimistic sister, “Maybe the owner dropped dead hunting and is lying out in the state land.” Jake plopped down on the living room rug, exhausted and noticeably a bit overwhelmed by the commotion of Christmas morning at the Shellenbargers. Soon, the room filled with an unpleasant odor. It seemed that, though Jake would survive, his digestive track was having a little trouble. Instead of smells of Christmas breakfast and fresh coffee, we opened our presents amid the stench of dog fart.
The day progressed like any other Christmas day. Napping, grazing, playing with new toys, and general laziness. Mid-afternoon I left to pick up a friend that was coming for dinner. Returning home I immediately got an update on the Jake saga. The owner had called in tears and disbelief that Jake was alive. “So you have him? You didn’t just SEE him! Right?!” It turned out that Jake had been lost on December 11th in western Arenac County, some two weeks and 20+ miles east of where we live. Jake had wandered that far in the snow and bitter cold and somehow ended up in our yard on Christmas morning. A freaking Christmas miracle. Here we were, experiencing our very own Christmas episode of “Lassie” or “Milo and Otis”. The owner, Bob, excitedly told my mom that he would be there the next day. After dinner we all settled in for another movie and the continued onslaught of Jake’s digestive issues.
Bob showed up as promised the next day. It would be easy to get overly sentimental here. Really it was just a quiet moment between a man and his dog. Jake visibly perked up at the sight of Bob coming to the door. His demeanor changed. He sat attentively with perfect poise as Bob stroked his head over and over. We exchanged respective ends of the story and all marveled at how Jake had survived in frigid weather. This man clearly loved his dog and doted on him while thanking us profusely. Even more, Bob relayed how Jake was a constant companion to his 83 year old Father who was home alone each day while Bob was at work. Jake turning up had been the perfect way to celebrate Christmas for everyone. And I knew he was a special dog because I didn’t openly wish for him to be a dish in a Korean family’s Christmas dinner.
It was indeed our own little Christmas miracle. Now, I’m definitely not saying that this miracle is on par with the miracle of Baby Jesus, that of the Virgin conceiving and giving birth to the Son of God and millions of angels appearing in the sky singing Christmas carols. There is no greater miracle or meaning for what we just celebrated. So, though it may never pass the Vatican’s criteria for a true, bonafide miracle, I’m content to say that it’s a pretty freaking awesome story. It is a sort of Americana, feel-good- on-Christmas kind of miracle. And as a good blogger, I should probably now transition into some spiritual truth I learned. Let’s be honest, this story is rife with great analogies and spiritual truths. But I think I’ll leave the analogizing to you, my intelligent reader, and end by wishing you a belated Merry Christmas. May the wayward come home and your dog not have gas.