He came to us with much speculation, much unrest, not an exaggeration to say strife.
A decision that seemed right because it all just fell into place. My friend found him, had not listed him as available and she called.
I’m quick to say yes when things happen this way. Some say meant to be and I say providence.
Because, this dog, my son’s dog, a rescue we now know had been hit by a car at some point which left him with a slight tilt of the hip and a “wonky” walk, this dog is pretty brilliant and he loves us.
We love him back.
We all do now, miracle of miracles. Impossible not to love him, not to accept freely his invitation.
Like a baby, we only vaguely remember why the screen porch has yet to get a new door and if you visit you’ll see a clever armrest I designed to disguise the chunk gone from chewing.
We don’t remember the early, early morning trainings except for the sake of knowing they were what he needed.
“Good boy” he is and this morning this boy is up on Christmas morning and like a child, he’s pondering the gifts under the tree and waiting as if he knows, it’s not yet time, the others will be here tonight.
And now I must go and I must find a gift, because I’m not a natural at being a dog’s grandma…but, it appears Santa forgot to leave a gift under the tree.
Merry Christmas from our home and this sleepy-eyed boy, “Colton Dixon, Colt 45, Good Boy”.
A crazy and questionable choice for a Christmas gift for a son who’d be leaving for college, a dog who understands, listens and waits. Oh, is he good at waiting!
Even better at welcoming, he’s giddy and goofy and well, a little boy on Christmas morning full of energy and awkward, lanky, exuberant love for this family that he now calls his.