I ran to the attic and got a large box and a blanket. Grabbing some aspirin and an antibiotic one of the children had been taking, then warming some milk, I finally announced, "I"m ready." We piled our four children in the car and started for the shopping center. Snow covered the ground. Hold on, Old Red. We"re coming.
As we entered the shopping center, all my hopes faded. He was gone. "Oh, he"s gone off to die," I moaned. We drove around and looked and called, but the dog didn"t come.
The next day I took the boys in for a haircut. Old Red was back! But he looked worse than ever. After feeling his hot nose, I ran into the barber shop. "Larry, the dog is going to die right in front of your shop."
Larry liked to tease me - even about this. He didn"t look up. "Think he"s already dead. Haven"t seen him move all morning."
"Larry," I screamed, "you"ve got to do something!"
I left the barber shop with a heavy heart. It took all my willpower not to put Old Red in our car. He seemed resigned to his fate. I was almost in tears. One of my twins kept asking me something as we sat in our car. He repeated his question for the third time.
"Does God care about lost dogs, Mama?"
I knew I had to answer Jeremy even though God seemed far away. I felt a little guilty, too, because I never thought about bothering God with this. "Yes, Jeremy, God cares about all his creatures." I was afraid of his next question.
"Then let"s ask him to make Old Red well. Can we do that, Mama?"
"Of course, Jeremy," I answered, somewhat exasperated. What else could I say to a five-year-old?
Jeremy bowed his head, folded his hands, shut his eyes and said, "God, I want to ask you to make Old Red well again. And please . . . send a little boy to love him. Amen."