“Be safe, babe,” I said to my wife, Ashley, holding her tight. You’d think these goodbyes would get easier. Ash ley and I were Air Force pilots. This was the third time in less than 18 months that one of us had been deployed. Ash ley would be on a fourmonth tour of duty, flying C-17s in the Middle East.
“Good luck with the pup,” she said. A look of concern crossed her face. “You’re going to need it. I’ll be pray ing for you.”
Ashley was referring to Pistol, the fiveyearold golden retriever we’d adopted just 12 hours earlier.
I’d been asking God to bring a dog into my life for eight years, ever since my beloved childhood dog, Shammy, had died of old age.
Maybe Pistol wasn’t the right dog. He’d looked so sweet in the picture from the rescue agency. He turned out to be a 75-pound terror.
Picking him up from the foster family, Ashley and I watched Pistol crash around the family’s living room, knocking over furniture and ignor ing commands. We should have paid more attention when the family’s dog hid behind the sofa every time Pistol tried to get her to play.
Finally the family got him on a leash and turned him over to us. He pulled so hard, he almost passed out.
This story is from the August/September 2021 edition of Guideposts.
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This story is from the August/September 2021 edition of Guideposts.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
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