Sometimes, God Speaks Greyhound

I want to be very honest here - I am NOT a big fan of change. I like to be in control. Experiencing a panic attack was terrifying - I was definitely not in control. It required change, again not a fan. My response to this happening was completely mature and rational. I pouted. And pouted. And pouted. Also, I whined. And cried. I didn't want this. I didn't understand where God was in this. I prayed (but mostly I just whined at God and called it praying).

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One night recently, I was laying on our couch, trying to nap, but mostly just complaining to God, that I just didn't feel very close to Him. It was quite the pity party. No sooner did I pray that, I felt one of the dogs climbing up beside me. I braced myself for Runner's boneless 70 pounds of deadweight to flop down on top of me. When that didn't come, I looked over to see Midnite, ever so gently curling up beside my legs. Just to explain, Midnite does not cuddle. She is affectionate, but she wants at least half the couch or nothing, and you must not touch her or she huffs in exasperation and gets up. But, right there for the first time ever, Midnite voluntarily snuggled down with me.

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Four years ago, we decided to adopt a greyhound. We had visited with some of the already adopted dogs and promptly submitted an application. Shortly thereafter, we were matched with a small female recently retired from racing in Florida. The kids were so excited to go pick up our dog. We went through the fenced in yard and were greeted eagerly by three other dogs, while Midnite slunk in the background. Despite our best efforts, she hid behind the other dogs and spurned our attempts at getting acquainted. There were reservations because of her spookiness and a household with kids, but we decided to go ahead with a two week trial period. During that test run, we discovered to Midnite was terrified of everything and everyone. We walked her with a harness and a collar lest she panic and slip out of one or the other. When she wasn't scared out of her mind, she was depressed, lying in a far corner, curled up in a tiny ball, pretending we didn't exist. She almost didn't stay. Somewhere along the line, she decided that she trusted us. Midnite became the sweetest, quirkiest, smartest dog we could have ever imagined. I had forgotten the skinny, shy, scaredy hound we brought home.

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When Midnite curled up with me as I was grousing at God for seeming far away, I was reminded that not long ago, the pup curled up at my feet was a lot like me. The only difference was, she trusted us. Did I trust Him?

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Yes.