We had an eventful evening at our house yesterday. I had the Christmas lights glowing and the radio tuned to carols as I was making candy and baking cookies to send to my family in Kentucky. It was a scene right out of a Rockwell painting. That is until Joe came bursting through the front door crying so hard he could barely breathe. He screamed out that he saw the neighbor’s dog, Gypsy, get run over.
Now even though it was the neighbor’s dog these aren’t just neighbors; Paul and Kathy are best friends of ours and their dog is as much a part of our family as our own dog. Joe was beyond consolation and Drew was getting there fast. Even so, I left them with the baby and ran down the street to see what I could do.
There was a crowd of some of the best neighbors you could ever hope to have. They were gathered around the beloved golden retriever doing whatever they could to help. There was a lot of blood but it seemed that Gypsy had bitten some hands and it was human blood, not hers. They loaded her into a truck and went on their way to the hospital.
When I returned home Drew and Joe were nearly inconsolable. I sat them down and we counted down from ten as we took deep breaths. Then my boys prayed. Aftewards I gave them things to do to keep their hands busy. Joe got out his markers and drew Gypsy a picture. Sam came home from another neighbor’s house and when he heard the news he wrote a sweet letter Paul and Kathy.
I called my husband who was on his way home from work and he instead went to the hospital. Later he brought Paul and Kathy to our house to dress the wounds on their hands where they gotten bitten. It turns out that Gypsy has only a broken leg. She is an older dog though and this may be a tough hurdle for her to get over. When Paul and Kathy left they had to take a bag with them to carry all the gifts my boys pulled out of their toy boxes to give to them and their dog.
That night before I went to bed I looked over my kitchen with the Christmas lights still glowing and my table looking like a MASH unit with all its bandages and disinfectant. As I put the cookie dough into the refrigerator, I thanked God. I thanked Him that Gypsy wasn’t hurt worse than she was, I thanked Him that it was the dog that got hit and not Joe. And I thanked him for the sweet and tender hearts of my usually rough and tumble boys.