When Garry and I had been married a few months, we adopted a dog from the nearby shelter: Quincy. Since we did not have any kids, Quincy was our world. He went on trips with us, got walked probably five times a day, went to doggy day care once a week. It was a good life.
As we had more kids, Quincy fell further and further down the totem pole. It got to the point where the only exercise he really got was when he was in the backyard. And since he always seemed to be under someone's foot in our tight quarters, he spent a lot of time on his pet bed or near the window.
He had a little collar to keep him out of the kitchen, but one morning either the batteries were dead or he decided that it was worth it, and he got into a few things. The worst was the apple juice. He got the lid off and there was juice everywhere!
Garry and I had talked often about finding Quincy a new home where there was another dog and more room to run around. But I always fought giving him away because I saw pets as a stewardship, one that you just did not get rid of when things got tough.
After the apple juice incident, I called my parents: the originators of the "pets are a responsibility" stand. I told them that I was overwhelmed, and would I be a horrible person if I gave Quincy away?
My father, Mr. Responsibility, told me that there were five to ten decent people in the world, and I was one of them. No, they would not think that I was horrible, just that I was overwhelmed.
Clearly my father does not know very many people. But for the first time I got this little glimpse of how my Heavenly Father views me. I always heard that He wanted me to just do my best, but I never completely believed it. But here was my Dad telling me that it was okay, I just had to do my best and if life was a little more manageable without the stress of a dog, so be it.
We found a family in Northern Maryland that agreed to take Quincy in. They have two kids, live on a farm with a lot of animals, and they have a ton of room. The kids are homeschooled and so they can love on Quincy all the day long. We hope that it will be heaven for him.
I still miss my dog. I am not proud of how ignored he was over the past few years, but I am proud that we made the tough decision to make his life a little better. When he left I just cried and cried and thought, "I should have never got upset over the stupid apple juice."
Goodbye, my friend.
