By Antique Mommy
Sunday we hurried home from church, looking forward to the meal that we knew Papa George would have waiting for us. As we came to a stop at the intersection of a busy street, my mother-in-law Cleo, who was in the front seat, spotted a little Yorkie (little Yorkie is redundant, I know) wandering dangerously near the street.
“Oh I’ll bet someone has turned her out!” cried Cleo. “Look how skinny she is!”
“Should we stop and get her?” I asked from the backseat.
But just as quickly as the little dog had appeared, she disappeared. She had scampered off and out of sight.
“She probably lives around here,” said Antique Daddy with absolutely no concern. “She’s probably headed home.”
No one agreed with him, no one meaning Memaw, Sean or me. We were all certain the little Yorkie had been abandoned and was about to starve to death.
Nonetheless, she was not to be seen, so we went home to eat our Sunday dinner. As we were sitting around the table, the little starving Yorkie came to the door and peered in hopefully through the glass.
I jumped up from the table, not willing to dismiss this as a coincidence. Clearly God intended for me to look after that dog as twice He had put her in my path. So I let the Yorkie in and she made herself right at home. I picked her up and tried to get a look at her collar, which was kind of hard to do because my face kept getting in the way of her tongue. The only number on the tag was the vet’s number, which I called, but of course, the vet was at home eating Sunday dinner with his family, so he didn’t answer the phone at his office.
Papa George’s Schipperke, Missy Ann, was not so keen on our uninvited guest, so I put Little Miss Yorkie outside on a chain, just outside the front door with some food and water. Yorkie looked to be amused and bewildered at this act of charity. Or maybe that’s just how Yorkie’s look all the time, I don’t know.
Twenty minutes later, an older gentleman pulls up out front looking for his Yorkie. Yorkie recognizes her owner and wiggles and wags and bounces on her back legs and waves her front feet. The older man pads up the front walk in his house shoes, breathing heavy. He is quite obviously relieved to $ee his Yorkie. The old man and the Yorkie exchange kisses and hugs. He thanks me kindly but tells me that she runs off from time to time. But always comes home.
The old man tucks his Yorkie under his arm, heads down the walk and gets in his car. I watch them drive away. I sigh as I head back into the house. I returned to the table and my now cold food knowing that I had left the world a just a little bit better than I found it before lunch. And my heart swelled just a little. On that Sunday I was not just a mother, wife and daughter — I was a humanitarian and rescuer of Yorkies not in need of rescue.
(Cue epic music theme from Gone With The Wind. Fade to black.)
by Antique Daddy
We saw a skinny dog on the way home from church, probably headed home.
He came to the door while we were eating. His owner drove around looking for him and saw him tied up out front and came and got him. The end.