Soldier’s Dog Needed a Home
My friend Beverly called crying last week. “Marion, there’s a young dog in a shelter nearby. Three days ago, his owner, not even 20, had to give him up. He’s been deployed overseas.”
My husband Gene and I are dog people, but we’ve been dogless for four years. Our two beloved dogs died of old age. We knew that one day when a homeless dog desperately needed us, we’d take him in. I always imagined we’d see him along the side of the road—waiting, watching.
A young fellow headed off to a war zone deserved to have his dog properly loved. Gene and I hopped into the car and headed for the Seneca Animal Shelter and Humane Society in South Carolina—about an hour away. We drove mostly in silence. What was there to say? If the dog had three legs and one eye, he was ours.
We sat in the shelter waiting room. A worker brought out a smallish, mostly yellow Lab. He had golden eyes to match his coat. He covered our faces and hands with countless licks. He wagged his tail so hard he nearly lost his balance—he could hardly contain his joy. Neither could we.
“He’s a little over a year old,” the worker explained. “His name is Thor, but you can change it.” No, the dog had experienced enough change in his young life. He’d keep the name the soldier had given him.
Gene drove and I sat in the back seat with Thor. I patted my lap. “You can lay your head here if you want to.” He plopped his golden head into my lap, sighed, and shut his eyes. He seemed to be smiling.
We are trying to locate the soldier to tell him we’re praying for him and that his dog is THORoughly loved.
Photo by Jessica Nelms