Rescued

I always refer to my pup Shine as my rescue dog. It's true that I rescued her from being put to sleep mere hours before the injection, but really, she rescued me.

I didn't know the day I picked her up from the pound smelling like old urine, infested with heartworms and limping from a torn knee meniscus that I was the one who would need saving.

I didn't know I was entering into a season where I would find the reassurance in the bright brown eyes of a happy lab mix who seemed heaven sent to help me believe in love unconditional.

She runs faster than my healthy dogs limping to greet me first. She throws all 70 pounds of herself into my lap at every opportunity clueless that she's not exactly a lap dog. When I'm on the couch reading she jumps all the way up, licks my hand and jumps down again just to reassure me she's there.

People were mean to her the whole first year of her life and yet her eyes leak trust and forgiveness.

She's been sick the past few weeks with a bad bladder infection and now bladder stones. She will have surgery on Thursday, but as we wait it's breaking my heart to know she's hurting. It's super hard and painful for her to go potty and she flinches when I open the door for her to go out.

At 3 am I sat on the back porch with her. She didn't seem to be in a hurry and I'm not one to judge the length of time it takes to gather strength. So we sat there together and waited. Bathed in moonlight and comforted in companionship I savored the peace of that moment.

I remembered there's joy in the waiting and even though it feels that way sometimes, I'm not alone. Someone who knew me from the foundation of the world knows my every thought, every tear, every frustration and every moment. And he reaches down with compassionate love and invites me to be rescued.