Unplanned Adventures

It's been an interesting weekend at our house. I'm not quite sure if interesting is the right word. Shocking? Stretching? Learning?

Wes and I have been shopping for over 2 years for an RV and finally purchased one. We've been to RV shows, traveled all over the state of Oklahoma looking at used RVs, researched campers, read all about RV buying and preparations ... and finally brought our RV home this weekend.

It was proudly sitting in our front yard for a few hours until we decided to move it to the back part of our lot. First, we had to take down some fence panels to get it back there, but that's not a problem. We're experts at putting up and taking down fence because we have Houdini reincarnated in our dog. So, the panels came down and then I stood in the back to guide Wes through the semi-narrow passage. He backs trailers all the time, so this wouldn't be a problem.

Except ...

The trailer is wider than his mirrors so if I'm standing directly in back of him while he's backing up, he can't see me. We were halfway through the process before we realized the extensions hadn't been put on his mirrors yet, so he was having to go through this partially blind at times. We also didn't communicate very well just exactly what hand signs we would be using. When I motioned for Wes to move to the right, he thought I was motioning for him to continue coming straight back. But Wes managed to back the trailer in spite of the narrow passage and half-crazed woman flailing around, trying to give directions. He backed it up slowly ... and then suddenly, it wouldn't back up anymore, even though there was nearly a half acre of back lot to go.

Apparently, when it has rained every day for a week, the ground gets a little too soft for a truck and a trailer to drive on without sinking up to the axles in mud. Apparently. Apparently to everyone else but us, that is.

And, when an RV gets stuck in the mud and continues to sink deeper and deeper on one side, it will get the leans. In fact, it gets the leans so much that it will just lean on the nearest obstacle, which just happens to be our fence.

Brand new RV. Stuck in the mud. Leaning on a fence.

Hmmm. What to do? Fortunately I'm married to a wonderful man who doesn't get extremely frustrated and irritated at minor catastrophes like these. We just got some shovels and proceeded to start digging -- from the far side of the trailer since the sunk in side is on the fence. Well, Wes was digging. I was fighting with a dog.

Remember, I told you we have an Houdini-type dog. He is on a very long lead while he's outside because that dadgum brilliant dog has jumped our fence on every side. We built it up until it's taller than me. Of course, since I'm only 5 feet tall, that's not saying much, but still we've worked on a lot of fencing around our acre lot. Finally, we realized that no fence was high enough, and he just had to be on a long lead with supervision while he was outside. Well, our escape artist dog saw a fence panel was down and the way out was directly in front of him. Somehow Houdini Wylie wiggled out of his harness and was heading for freedom, and certain death in the busy street in front of our house.

I'm not a young girl anymore. I don't like running. I'm not exceptionally strong. But I saw the dog was heading to disaster and mayhem. I couldn't catch up with the dog (puh-lease!), so I did the only reasonable thing to do.

I dove after him.

Diving on the ground, even though it's been softened by a week of rain, still hurts. Especially when you're not used to that. But guess what?

I caught the dang dog. Caught him right by the scruff of his neck and held on like my life was on the line ... which I felt like it initially was since all the air had been knocked out of me. From the other side of the truck, my husband saw my head disappear, heard my "ooooof!" as all of the air was forced out of my body, and he hurried to help me ... or give me rescue breathing, whichever was needed.

Between the both of us, we were able to get the dog inside. The feeling was coming back in my back and stomach after having a hard meeting with the ground. Wes had run to the rescue ... but Wes's body doesn't like it at all when Wes runs anymore. The RV was still stuck in the mud, leaning on the fence. We were panting ... and moaning ... and groaning ... and deciding RVs and dogs are highly overrated. But we persevered. We persevered to the extent that we were finally able to get Wes's truck out of the mud so he could work today ... and our bright, shiny new RV is waiting for the nice tow truck man to pull it about 20 feet to the gravel pad out front.

Honestly, I thought our RV adventures would be a little different than this. I'm not quite sure what I was expecting, but I know I didn't foresee this weekend. One thing I know however, is that I've got a wonderful man to experience all of life with, a good God that knows just how it's all going to go, and the willingness to step out into a different sort of adventure. That makes it all okay in my book.

There will be more RV adventures coming up, so stay tuned!

Gracie

Meet Gracie.

We met Gracie 12 years ago quite by accident. She was living with a farmer who decided he didn't like her anymore, so he decided to shoot her. Something about her chasing cattle or something like that. If you knew Gracie like I know Gracie, you'd know that couldn't possibly be true. She was scared of her own shadow! Anyway, our youngest son thought that was absolutely horrible, so he brought her to our house so we could find her another home, since we already had 2 dogs living here at the time. The picture above? It was Gracie eating in our kitchen about 4 years ago. She never left. Not because we couldn't find a home for her, but because we turned down offers when people asked for her.

A rescue dog. Saved by grace. That's how she got her name. It wasn't that she was graceful (look how she's sitting!). But her life story is one of grace, and every time we said her name, we were reminded of the fact that she was rescued, saved, chosen, loved.

Gracie was the only female dog in a household of male dogs. There have been 5 male dogs that have been here at one time or the other ... and all of them acknowledged that Gracie was queen. She wasn't the loudest. She wasn't the strongest. She wasn't the fastest. But she was queen.

When Gracie first got to our home, she was about 2. She had been an outdoor dog, but took to living

in a nice, warm house immediately. She loved her doggy bed and blanket. She loved having her back scratched. She loved tiny dog biscuits and would do a little happy dance to get one. She loved rawhide bones and would remind us every night that it was time for her snack. She loved being with her people. She loved Pommer, our little Pug/Pomeranian puppy and she'd constantly clean his ears and eyes and groom him. She loved laying beside me -- and I can still can see her incredibly long eyelashes as she's laying on me, looking up at me. She loved barking at all of the male dogs, trying to get them to behave. She loved to be brushed. Well, that might be a stretch. I think it was more the attention that she loved than the brushing, but at least she'd put up with it.

Gracie hadn't been treated too well by the farmer where she had lived before. Loud noises and sudden moves scared her. One time, Wes crossed his leg and she flinched, like she thought he was going to kick her. People would come over to visit, and she'd hide, scared of anyone she didn't know. After 12 years of grandkids, Gracie would still hide under a chair when they'd come over, although they would patiently coax her out with a dog biscuit. Taking her to the vet or groomer would cause her to shake and she'd go in to a near panic.

Over the years, she relaxed a little bit, but never did she feel totally safe with people that weren't hers. And we were fine with that, because she had us so she was okay.

Gracie was my sweet girl puppy. Gracie Gray. Gracie Lou. Whatever she was called, she followed me from room to room. When I took a shower, she'd sleep outside the shower door until I emerged. When I cooked dinner, she laid behind a chair at the table. When I cleaned, she'd follow me and find a place to lay down in each room. When I'd have my devotions in the morning, she'd lay by my desk.

Yesterday, we were told by our vet that Gracie was dying. She had a large mass in her stomach, had lots incredible amounts of weight, was vomiting blood, and was so weak she couldn't move. We knew the best thing to do was to put her out of her misery and stop the suffering. As she was laying on the table at the vet's, she just stared at my face. Those big, brown eyes ringed with the long lashes never lost eye contact with me. No, she couldn't move. But, I was still her person ... and she was letting me know.

Our house has been lonely without her here. Her doggy bed and blanket in the living room look out of place. Her bowl has been strangely empty. When I would let Wylie in from the back yard, there was no Gracie excitedly dancing around, begging for a small dog treat. When I stepped out of the shower, I didn't have to watch to make sure she wasn't there.

And it has hurt.

Today, I was having my devotions -- no Gracie, just God and me. And I read a verse that jumped out at me: "When you were few in number and of little account..." from 1 Chronicles 16. My mind went to sweet Gracie. To the farmer, she was of little account, unimportant, rejected, abandoned. She meant nothing to him, but that didn't mean she was a nothing. That was a place where I could identify with Gracie because I had gone through the same thing -- of little account to some, but of precious value to Someone else. Both Gracie and I have gone through dark days of feeling alone and rejected.

But, we both were saved by grace. Gracie was rescued because someone saw her worth. Someone looked beyond to the precious little dog that she truly was. And me? I too was saved by grace. I too was loved, chosen, accepted and deemed of worth. Both of us were saved, received, and abundantly loved.

I'm going to miss my Gracie. She displayed some of God's characteristics -- loyalty, faithfulness, patience, grace. I can't help but think that she's running around the throne of heaven, following Jesus, sitting near Him just to be in His presence, hoping for a back scratch every now and then. She just likes to be with her people, and won't be any trouble. She's been a beautiful story of grace and mercy and reminds me that I'm just like her -- rescued and loved.

Gracie will always be a reminder to me of God and His grace to me. How grateful I am to have been her person.

He's Just a Dog

We had to put our 17 1/2 year old dog Snooker down today. He was blind ... deaf ... had developed doggy dementia ... had cancer ... was having accidents in the house ... and wasn't eating. Each day that went by, he continued to grow worse. After talking to our vet, my husband knew this was something that needed to be done, so he made an appointment. We said our tearful goodbyes, took off his collar, and Wes left with Snooker. I kept saying to myself, "He's just a dog!"

But he didn't feel so much like a dog when ...

... he'd play outside with my kids when they were little and bark a warning when someone came up to our fence.

... he got hit by a car and we rushed his mangled, unconscious body to the vet.

... he'd wrestle with stuffed toys that were larger than he was.

... he woke us up at 4:30 in the morning for a dog biscuit.

... he'd tear up Mikaela's Barbies if she left them out. Mikaela was the only kiddo we had that Snooker would "pick on". Maybe because she'd dress him up in ridiculous baby clothes?! His attitude towards her changed over the years though and eventually he decided she was okay.

... he'd sit by my chair every morning while I had my daily quiet time. He didn't want anything other than just to be sitting by me.

... he'd have horrible, rancid gas -- look at us as if he were blaming us for it, and then walk out of the room.

... he'd pace the kitchen while I cooked, eagerly hoping I'd drop something, ANYTHING that he could pounce on and eat. But you know, that dog would WAIT for my permission to eat it. If I told him no, he'd lay there by the food and wouldn't eat it. He was always pretty happy to be able to clean up any spills for me though.

... he'd sleep ON my feet in bed -- not NEXT to my feet, not CLOSE to my feet, but ON my feet. Snooker made the rounds over the years, blessing everyone in our family with his presence as they slept.

... he'd greet us at the door when we came home like he hadn't seen us in years. He loved us totally and unconditionally. He thought we were incredible!

The fact is that we let that dog worm his way into our family and in to our hearts. Today, Snooker doesn't seem like "just a dog". We've lost a family member ...