The Plan
I didn’t understand God’s plan. I had thoroughly researched the breed prior to acceptance and had complete confidence that a mastiff would be perfect for my family. I dedicated time and finances to thorough training to address issues that were important to our situation. We had, by all accounts, been good, dedicated, concerned and responsible dog owners. But despite all of this, when I prayed for a solution, when I prayed for guidance on what to do now, the only answer that came was to “let him go.” God spoke to me through my breeder. She had sent a couple emails from people who were interested in a mastiff puppy but might consider a rescue instead. She was the one responsible for sending me the information I could not ignore. Reading about a family with four kids and six acres of land who had already rescued a previously abused and now people-shy mastiff, I couldn’t help but feel led to the conclusion that this is what God wanted me to do. This was the solution. Yet, driving with my much-loved pet and my saddened son to Indiana, I had trouble believing that this was truly the right decision. Surely I must have not done something right along the way and if I could just remedy that, then we could keep Gabe and all would be well.
We met the family without much impression. They were fine, not a thing wrong with the situation, nothing to scream at us that this was perfect or ideal, either. All that we felt for Gabe left us numbed to feeling anything about this new home. It could have been a dog’s heaven and I wouldn’t have wanted to leave him. As I unloaded Gabe’s blankets, dog bowls and food from the car, I had to keep pulling him back out of it. He was afraid, as he had been for the entire drive over, that he would be left. He hadn’t gone far from me or the car at any of the rest stops and was trying to secure his place on the return trip by staying firmly in the back seat.
When we left we didn’t look back. Eyes filled to the brim with tears, we weren’t out of their driveway before LM and I both were sobbing. I drove as fast as I could away from the home and out to the highway, eager to get to my sister’s to be distracted and supported. I tried to regain my composure to help show strength and confidence to LM. I started talking about a moment that I had with the mother, a moment that might help to explain God’s plan. The mother had shared with me the story of how they had come to having their cat, Stormy. Their Persian had passed away and she was not at all eager for another cat. But this grey cat showed up as a stray and made itself at home in their yard. They had been outside with their daughter one evening and the cat just came right over and jumped into Megan’s lap and made himself comfortable. The mother had explained that her daughter is very tactile, she loves animals and this was especially meaningful to have this cat take to her so well. Stormy became part of the family. As I relayed this information to LM, thinking that perhaps the daughter we didn’t get a chance to meet might be especially fond of Gabe, LM immediately jumped in with information he had learned when he had gone inside briefly. “She’s handicap, Mom. She’s in a wheelchair, one of those special motorized ones, like she won’t get out of it.”
Mastiffs are often trained to be therapy dogs because of their gentle demeanor and size. It’s easy for them to sit right next to a wheelchair and be within reach. They can place their head right into your lap, and they are very happy to sit that way for hours if you’ll just rub their heads or talk lovingly to them.
A thirty miles north of Fort Wayne, Indiana, a half hour after leaving a dog we both loved more than seems reasonable, LM and I were able to see the reason why, perhaps, God had led us to this family’s door. They weren’t the sort of people to actually put energy into training a dog. They might not even realize the impact a gentle, sweet, lovable mastiff might have with their daughter. But we think God does. We think it’s very clear why we had Gabe for the past two and a half years. Why we were so committed to his training, so dedicated to making sure he was obedient and gentle and well socialized around people and dogs. We just didn’t realize we were training a therapy dog for Megan.
We met the family without much impression. They were fine, not a thing wrong with the situation, nothing to scream at us that this was perfect or ideal, either. All that we felt for Gabe left us numbed to feeling anything about this new home. It could have been a dog’s heaven and I wouldn’t have wanted to leave him. As I unloaded Gabe’s blankets, dog bowls and food from the car, I had to keep pulling him back out of it. He was afraid, as he had been for the entire drive over, that he would be left. He hadn’t gone far from me or the car at any of the rest stops and was trying to secure his place on the return trip by staying firmly in the back seat.
When we left we didn’t look back. Eyes filled to the brim with tears, we weren’t out of their driveway before LM and I both were sobbing. I drove as fast as I could away from the home and out to the highway, eager to get to my sister’s to be distracted and supported. I tried to regain my composure to help show strength and confidence to LM. I started talking about a moment that I had with the mother, a moment that might help to explain God’s plan. The mother had shared with me the story of how they had come to having their cat, Stormy. Their Persian had passed away and she was not at all eager for another cat. But this grey cat showed up as a stray and made itself at home in their yard. They had been outside with their daughter one evening and the cat just came right over and jumped into Megan’s lap and made himself comfortable. The mother had explained that her daughter is very tactile, she loves animals and this was especially meaningful to have this cat take to her so well. Stormy became part of the family. As I relayed this information to LM, thinking that perhaps the daughter we didn’t get a chance to meet might be especially fond of Gabe, LM immediately jumped in with information he had learned when he had gone inside briefly. “She’s handicap, Mom. She’s in a wheelchair, one of those special motorized ones, like she won’t get out of it.”
Mastiffs are often trained to be therapy dogs because of their gentle demeanor and size. It’s easy for them to sit right next to a wheelchair and be within reach. They can place their head right into your lap, and they are very happy to sit that way for hours if you’ll just rub their heads or talk lovingly to them.
A thirty miles north of Fort Wayne, Indiana, a half hour after leaving a dog we both loved more than seems reasonable, LM and I were able to see the reason why, perhaps, God had led us to this family’s door. They weren’t the sort of people to actually put energy into training a dog. They might not even realize the impact a gentle, sweet, lovable mastiff might have with their daughter. But we think God does. We think it’s very clear why we had Gabe for the past two and a half years. Why we were so committed to his training, so dedicated to making sure he was obedient and gentle and well socialized around people and dogs. We just didn’t realize we were training a therapy dog for Megan.
Comments
This post made me cry!