One day, I heard a screaming, a howling, something was wrong. I ran next door and a puppy, Big Guy, had gotten through a hole in the fence. Three large dogs attacked him. He was a puppy, only a few months old. His mother went through the hole, fought off the dogs and by nothing less than a miracle, they both escaped back through the hole in the fence.
Big Guy ran to my garage, where he liked to hang out. Our yards didn’t have fences. Blood was everywhere. He had a gash in his side. His skin punctured and ripped open. I could see his organs. I gathered a blanket. Called a friend. The vet met us at the hospital. I drove to the hospital. One hand on the wheel, one on his side. He panted and rested his head on the blanket.
Big Guy lived. He’d sneak into my garage, my back porch and find a blanket to rest on. I’d never hear him, but know. I’d turn around and find him there. He’d look at me. He smiled with his eyes, a wag of the tail.
He never got stitches, but the gash somehow glued itself back together. He grew bigger. He was that dog, the one that stars in movies that make everyone cry in the end. He was gorgeous and funny and he knew what I said. I never had to repeat myself.
The put a big rock over the hole in the fence. Those dogs could have one come through the fence to our side. They could have hurt the children in the neighborhood, or another dog. Big Guy was a hero to me. He asked for help when he needed it and gave me peaceful, trust, so much I didn’t deserve. When I think of Big Guy, I think of a soul that perhaps saved lives and we didn’t even know it.
A few months later, I found Big Guy dead. He’d been hit by a car. It was as sad a day as they come. I brushed his soft, wavy hair and kissed him goodbye.
There are so many moments where we are given grace, saved, and helped by someone we never knew. Or some little dog that left the world too soon.