Murdock

The floor was cool as I slid down the cupboard door to the concrete, waiting for our vet to finish up outside on another patient. It was Sunday, and thankfully, Carrie was on call.

I watched with wide eyes as Deets gulped the water from the small bowl placed on the floor in front of him. His body shook a bit and his heartbeat seemed to accelerate with each lapping of the liquid. How much could I let him drink? Would he be able to tolerate it after so many days without? I guess we’d find out. I closed my eyes, trying to remember exactly where Ian had told me he’d been found.

I had already searched in the same place for the second time two days earlier, seeing and hearing nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, I had parked the mower right next to the giant pile of tires that his body had been stuck in for the past nine days. How was it even possible that he was still alive and standing in front of me after nine long days?

I had been in the produce aisle when Ian had called that afternoon asking if I had seen his text. Irritated that he was calling after I had already asked at least three times what was needed from the store, reading through text messages was not a priority at the moment.

“No, I haven’t seen the text. I am shopping now, so just tell me what you need,” I replied.

“Just look at the text, Linds. Please just look at the text. He’s alive! Deets is alive,” Ian said.

I gasped and stood in the middle of the aisle in complete shock. My hands trembled and tears welled up in my eyes as I stared at the photo on my phone. Our dog, who had been missing for nine days, was indeed alive, standing in our front yard looking skinny and a bit sad. Making my way through the checkout line and then bagging my groceries as quickly as possible, I couldn’t help but wonder how this was even happening. Where had he been found? Was he really OK?

So many questions were unanswered, but did those questions really matter when the dog that half the county had been searching for with us had been found alive?

Twelve miles had never seemed so far away as they did that warm afternoon. I kept my speed steady on the freeway and then accelerated down the mile of dusty gravel toward home. Ian was standing in the driveway with friends who had come to look at the tractor we were selling as I turned toward the orchard trees.

Pulling the car into the shade, I jumped out, running toward him, praying he was as alive as he looked. When I reached the apple tree, his head moved ever so slowly as his eyes focused on mine, his tail wagging back and forth with a steady beat that seemed to reassure me that everything was going to be OK. He stunk so very badly, but the stench didn’t keep my hands from rubbing his sides and nuzzling into his neck. He was alive.

The next two hours were a bit of a blur. Ian was able to tell me the complete story of how he was found, and after a call to our veterinarian, I loaded Deets into the car so he could be examined properly. I was certain that nine days without any food or water was nothing short of a miracle, and I wasn’t taking any chances of losing him now.

After arriving at the vet clinic, I carried him in through the back door, laughing to myself that I had actually put the leash around his neck. There was no way he was going to be able to run off in this kind of condition, but habits play tricks on the mind, especially in stressful conditions.

Carrie came in through the back door and let out a heavy sigh when she found Deets and I both on the cool cement floor. Apologizing for keeping us waiting, I laughed out loud. I had been waiting for nine days, and the past half hour had been a wonderful opportunity for me to sit in the stillness and soak up the miracle that was lying next to me.

Together, we worked at getting two bags of liquid down him through an IV and then attempted to wash the stench away. He wriggled and squirmed all 50 pounds of himself around, avoiding the water with every ounce of energy he could muster up. The rinsing off would have to wait for another day. Getting the liquids into his tired body was much more important.

I left for home with Deets curled on the floorboard of the car about an hour later. His eyes were closed, but he had a steady heartbeat. The other dogs greeted us at the car when we got home, hoping and praying as much as I had that their best pal was doing well.

It’s been just over a month now, and our sweet Deets is as good as new. He walks miles of gravel roads with me daily, lies next to me on the back porch as I read and is soaking up summer like the best of them. I’m not sure he’ll ever chase another cat or rabbit into a pile of tires ever again, but he’ll definitely have a story to tell for the rest of his days.

Sometimes I catch myself looking at him while he walks with me, wondering what kind of lesson God was trying to teach me during those nine days when I had searched for miles on foot and in my car knowing deep down he had to be alive. Was it perseverance or patience? Hope? Determination?

Whatever it was, you can be sure that I continue to whisper thanks with each wag of Deets’ tail. The happiest and most faithful walking partner I could have ever hoped for in a dog still gets to be a part of my story.