The Day the Dog Drove the Car

Because my sister and I had an after-school activity, Mom let me drive us to school in our car, an old battered Cadillac, posh only in name.

The car was, in fact, dangerous. Whenever we were driving it and saw a roadblock ahead—we took a detour to avoid being stopped. The car had no safety sticker. One reason it didn’t have a safety sticker is that it had no emergency brake or parking brake.

That day when we got to school, we discovered a small, white, shivering poodle-type dog huddled against the front of the school while some of the boys threw rocks at it. Leslie and I were outraged. No one abuses animals around us. We flew into the fray, sent the boys running for cover, and took the poor little dog out to the Caddy where it would be safe until school let out for the day.

But it wasn’t safe because someone stole the car. When school let out, Les and I flew out to the parking lot to discover that…the car was gone. Les and I ran frantically around the parking lot looking for the car, but it was nowhere in sight. It was gone.

In total panic mode we rushed along asking other students if they had seen anything. Finally one student said he had. “The last time I saw your car, a little white dog was driving it.”

We were furious with him for mocking us and our predicament. This was in the days before mobile phones. We lived some five miles out of town. Our father had taken the other vehicle to work, so we had our family’s only transportation—except we didn’t have it. It was gone. Either stolen or driven off by a poodle.

The student walked with us back to where I had parked the car…then a bit further. We followed him—and there was our car. In a deep gully. The poodle was in the driver’s seat.

Because the car had no parking brake, the little dog had bounced around until it hit the shifter and knocked the car out of gear. Being on a slight incline, the car cruised down the hill to the bottom. It took a tow truck to get the Caddy out of the gully. Even though the car was not damaged—save a couple of new dents—our parents would not let us keep the little dog who could drive.

How could a blog about a little dog who drove a car be an Easter blog?

Jesus died on the cross so our sins could be forgiven and we could invite His Holy Spirit to come and live inside us to give us help and hope for every day, every situation in life. The death of Jesus on the cross is historic. People saw it. People watched.

Three days later, Jesus rose up from the cross and walked the earth again. It’s history. People saw Him. They touched the nail prints in His hands and feet and the spear wound in His side. And, yet, not everyone believes. You might as well tell them a dog drove their car.

The angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know you seek Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for He is risen. He is risen from the dead.” Matthew 28:6.

“And truly Jesus did many other signs in the presence of His disciples, which are not written in this book; but these are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ; the Son of God, and that believing you may have life in His name.” John 20:30.

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Rock-Eating Dogs

savanna after surgery

Politics aside (we were just kids), my sister and I were appalled by something President Lyndon Johnson used to do; he picked his beagles up by their ears. I use that memory in my newest cozy Christian mystery, “Herding Bats.” Also the frustration of dealing with dementia. But back to President Johnson’s dogs.

If he were still alive today, I would have to apologize to President Johnson for my harsh judgment of him for allowing his beagles to eat rocks. As a kid, I couldn’t imagine anyone letting their dogs eat rocks. Now we have a rock-eating dog.

Our blue merle rough collie puppy started eating rocks, a symptom we have since learned of Epi, exocrine pancreatic insufficiency. Savannah will have to take enzymes with her food for the rest of her life. Her rock eating spate thankfully stopped after the enzymes started.

I don’t know why the Prez’s beagles ate rocks. But I do know that I was stupid and judgmental, a habit just as ugly, dangerous and damaging as eating rocks. “There is one Lawgiver, who is able to save and to destroy. Who are you to judge another?” James 4:12 warns . I hadn’t read it when I was a kid – and sadly – I tend to forget it now as an adult. But having a rock-eating dog has humbled, taught, and reminded me. God has a right to judge. I don’t.

HerdingBats_CVR_SML

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My Running Coach is a Dog

With Alan in the ministry, we’re a low budget family. Kindhearted folks in our church realized that when poor Little Red got smashed by a Glasgow Taxi and couldn’t be repaired. In an amazing, touching, and heartwarming gesture, they gave us a car. It has half the mileage that Little Red had and it’s simply awesome in every way. We are truly blessed. We call Red’s replacement “The Jesus Car,” because Jesus provided it.

Low budget or not, exercise is vital for good health. So I insist on keeping my running coach. She’s simply awesome and amazing. She doesn’t work for peanuts, but she can be bribed with treats. My running coach is our dog.

I didn’t want to run today. It was one of those rare Scottish days of sunshine and warmer than usual temperatures. Our garden had a surplus of dandelions. I love the cheerful yellow flowers that God plants everywhere. Our neighbors don’t. To keep peace, the dandelions must go. After a day of crawling around on my hands and knees pulling up the nearly impossible to uproot “weeds,” I didn’t want to go running. I’d had enough exercise.

Along came my running coach. “Woof, WOOF,” right into my face. Loosely translated, that meant: “get off your computer and go running. You need the exercise. I’ll supervise.” So we ran. As we ran, I began to feel guilty.

This is the weekend that the United States celebrates Memorial Day. Son Luke Parker is in the U.S. Marine Corps and has given up more than anyone other than God will ever know to serve his country. He and others like him have joined the military and fought for the freedom that allows me to sit at this computer and write. My freedom has been purchased with their blood, tears, heartbreaks, lives. With all the sacrifices they make on a daily basis, how could I possibly think I was “too tired” or had “worked too hard” to run? My sacrifice compares to theirs like dandelion fluff to an oak tree.

Thank you, U.S. Troops. God Bless and Keep You. May your sacrifice be rewarded with the attainment of every dream you cherish and every goal you set. Thank You, Thank You, Thank You. May Jesus be your constant Guide, Protector, Healer.

And if any of you need a good running coach, I can recommend one. She’s relentless – and affordable. If you don’t mind four paws and long strands of dog hair sticking to the carpet, she’s perfect!