Chloe

I found my first dog at the S.P.C.A.

She was being returned by a woman who said her two-year-old daughter was afraid of her. That should have given me pause. But the dog was named “Piper” and I thought it was a cue from the Cosmos, or some kind of Synchronicity. So I adopted her. I did change her name to Murphy. “Piper Piper” was just too odd.

Murphy was a scruffy, scrappy, terrier mix. Very smart, though not smart enough to not snap and snarl at her owner. We eventually reached an understanding. I didn’t come to Christ until eight years later, and at that point I wouldn’t have respected a dog that was tender and mild anyway. I was pretty snarly myself.

After my conversion, as my church was moving me into a new apartment, I imprisoned Murphy in the bathroom with a big warning sign that read CAREFUL: MURPHY INSIDE! Enough said.

When she died at age sixteen it was very sad of course. I had loved her as best I could. She was company. Now I was coming home to an empty apartment and it was hard. My prayer group of ladies decided to pray for a new dog for me. I wasn’t sure I was ready, but they were.

The leader, a missionary friend, prayed that:

    1. God would pick the perfect dog for me
    2. A mature dog, not a puppy
    3. A dog someone was looking to find a home for
    4. Free (a missionary prayer)

I didn’t say a word. I was thinking I’d like a girl and thought two years old would be perfect, but I didn’t even pray, I just thought it. My friends took over.

Two weeks later, pulling into the parking lot of one of my nursing homes, a car passed me with its window cavity consumed by the smiling face of the most adorable dog I’d ever seen. A hound nose, scruffy fur, big eyes, long ears flapping in the wind. I jumped out and approached the owner, who was releasing her four-legged charmer from the back seat.

“Excuse me, what kind of dog is that?”

"A PBGV."

"A what?"

“Petit Basset Griffon Vendeen. It means small, low, rough coated, from Vendeen, France.” She was used to such questions.

I was smitten. “How much do they run?”

“A dog like this, a show dog? As much as two thousand.”

“Oh! Well, that’s out of my range,” I said, my hopes falling.

“You could get a pet for maybe eight hundred.”

“Um... still out of my range.”

“Sometimes people are looking to find a home for their dog... .”

(See above prayer list.)

“Oh, you could sign me up for that,” I said, my hopes rising.

“Really, like maybe an older dog?”

(See above prayer list!)

She reached into her purse for a pen and jotted down a contact name and number. She even hugged me. How often do strangers do such things? When I finished my nursing home hour I raced to the car to send out an emergency prayer APB: “Pray for a PBGV! Wait till you see this dog! I think God is answering our prayers!”

I went online to learn about the breed and was reminded of how expensive they were. Even a rescue required a hefty adoption fee. I called the number I’d been given and the woman who answered had one PBGV she was selling for five hundred dollars. A bargain, maybe, but certainly not free.

As I considered it, my resolve weakened and I wondered if maybe this was the answer to our prayer after all. Maybe God was just skipping a few specifications. A few days later I called back but that dog was no longer available. My contact gave me two more names and numbers of breeders to try. I was artless enough to tell her I was hoping the dog would be free. Before we hung up she reminded me:

“People don’t give away dogs like this.”

I looked up the kennels online. The first was owned by a couple who were living together and not married, so I chose the married couple of kennel number two. They were in Delaware. The website said they had a dog for adoption. I emailed.

In her reply the owner mentioned how timid the animal was, that she would hide if company came over, and she needed to be a one-person dog. I was one person, I knew that much. Her age was two-and-a-half. (See my unprayed prayer list.) Since the couple couldn’t show her because of her timid personality, they were looking to find a home for her. (See number three.) She ended her response, “There is no adoption fee for this dog.”

I went to Delaware.

She was so beautiful I could hardly believe it. Despite her reputation she came right to the door, let me pick her up onto my lap and kissed me. They had given her what I thought was a terrible name (I won’t tell you.) “Oh, don’t change it,” the owners advised. The minute we got in the car I began calling her Chloe.

Our first couple of weeks were a nightmare. Chloe was not housebroken and had never been on a leash. I lost seven pounds walking her, trying to get her to go potty outside. They had told me she was crate trained, and I mistook Murphy’s old cage for a crate. Until I discovered the difference, I had an adorable dog scared to death and covered with poo every time I came home. I didn’t exactly love her yet, and I was getting ready to give up.

Driving to an afternoon nursing home visit, I called a friend whom I knew would tell me “It’s okay,” to take Chloe back. She didn’t answer. I arrived at the activities office on the verge of tears. The young staff women listened quietly as I poured out my tale of woe. Then they united their hearts in sisterhood and burst out laughing.

“My son tried to bite me when I left him at nursery school this morning!” Each of them had young children. I had no maternal experience whatsoever, and their laughter was telling me that this was what all mothers go through–even, it would seem, dog mothers.

Since it was so risky to leave her at home, I decided to take Chloe with me to my Sunday afternoon nursing home where I led a Bible Hymn Sing. I sat her on a chair next to me and blocked her escape with the neck of my guitar. But Chloe never moved. She sat still and quiet as could be for the entire hour. That’s when I realized God had a plan for this dog. (I’m sure you don’t want me to reference the prayer list again.)

I wondered what I could invent to take Chloe with me to the homes. Some kind of rolling cart? Something with wheels that I could fold up and take in the car? While I was trying to be creative someone told me about dog strollers. Oh. Who knew?

Once she learned, the hard way, that she was attached to the stroller with a leash, Chloe’s own little ministry adventure began. She went from afraid-of-everything to spoiled-almost-rotten in a very short period of time. “Gee, every time I meet someone I get a treat. I guess people are not so bad.” Then there was the discovery of her incredible mind: “Say ‘God Bless you’ in Russian!” Woof! Brilliant. “Say ‘I love you’, but say it in French!” Woof! Amazing. I could go on and on.

Chloe can “open doors no man can shut” (Revelation 3:8) when we go room to room for our music visits. Sometimes I will see the beginning of a “no” forming on someone’s lips that will change to an “ohh” upon seeing that face in the stroller. People who are deaf whom I could never reach with song will light up and put out their hands for her. Even though it’s obvious that she can’t, Chloe has been given credit for singing and playing the guitar from seemingly sane individuals. I just drive the car. Her feet can’t reach the pedals.

A staff woman shared about a resident we visited only once a month. He had recently passed away, and the week he was dying, he stretched out his hands and said, “Where’s Chloe? I want my Chloe... .”

If you find that hard to believe, I understand. But remember our prayers. God picked the perfect dog and she came with His plan. The gift of Chloe was never meant for only me. She touches countless hearts and God uses her, maybe not like He uses you and me–but He’s the God of all the living. Is there anything too wonderful for Him?

Now unto him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think... (Ephesians 3:20)

When you did awesome things that we did not expect... Since ancient times no one has heard, no ear has perceived, no eye has seen any God besides you, who acts on behalf of those who wait for him. (Isaiah 64:3a,4)