Myrtle, my Miracle dog, has a pretty good life. Here she is recently on her thick, orthopedic bed in our warm house. Her food and a loving ear scratch are never far away.
Myrtle stays outside whenever she wants, as long as it is relatively dry and mild. She particularly enjoys napping in the sun. She goes with us on jogs or walks for a romp. She eats expensive food that is almost human grade. She usually has a spa day at the vet’s every six weeks.
But honestly, Myrtle would have an even better life if she would just obey.
You see, Myrtle will not come. And Myrtle runs away at every opportunity. Well, to be fair, she follows us, but keeps just enough distance that we can’t get to her to secure her. Fortunately, her hearing is getting bad these days, so we can sometimes sneak up on her and get the leash snapped on before she knows what’s coming.
If you’re wondering why I call such a creature my Miracle dog, it is for several reasons:
- Myrtle was born in my Miracle year (2000).
- I found her where my Miracle started (Myrtle Cemetery).
- She shows me things about my relationship with God.
The most important point is the last one, but I’ll focus on timing and location first.
October is my birthday month. In 2000, on my 40th birthday, we buried my little sister in Myrtle Cemetery, beside my mother, who died at age 47, and beside my grandparents, who raised me. In 2015, during my birthday week, Myrtle ran away and ended up in doggie jail, which made us both rather Facebook famous. And during that same week, while pondering the aggravating Myrtle, I realized how old she was, and why that was significant, among other things.
There are other connections that make this story meaningful to me, but the timing/location points above are all I can cram in to this post without confusing you, so I’ll stop now.
In my next post, I’ll explore the lessons Myrtle won’t let me forget. I’m most thankful for that part of the story.
Next post: Prone to Wander