There was a man who loved dogs. He was constantly finding stray dogs and cleaning them up and feeding them, and now and then he’d find a new home for one, but most of the came to live with him in his ramshackle old house on the hill. Every day he would take 2 or 3 of them and pick up his walking stick that leaned by the gate and head down the long road that led to his house, going to get his mail (on the rare occasions there was any) and any other item he might need for the day’s adventures. His heart was light for, although he lived alone, he was never lonely. For one, he had the constant loving companionship of his canine friends, and for another, he knew that we all constantly abide in the loving Presence of the Source and Sustainer of all. So he would head out with a song in his head and a loving light in his eye every day, rain or shine.
One day the man was returning from his walk and heard a whimpering. He knelt down to check the dogs with him to be sure no one was hurt, then told them to be quiet so he could hear where the sound came from. It seemed to come from his right, on the other side of the bushes, and thorn-berry vines. He looked for a place to cut through the brambles but none was close by, so, picking up his feet very high to avoid as many thorns as possible, he stepped into the greenery, following the whimper. The dogs waited patiently, for they knew he would return – he always did. Slowly, he worked his way toward the sound. Sometimes he had to stop moving, because the sound stopped when he made any noise. Finally, he felt he was almost on top of it, but he couldn’t see anything brown, black, or yellow-dog color through the thick green leaves – what could it be? Then he saw a flicker of movement, a bit of pink. It was a child! A little girl! Her pink sweater was all tangled up in the thorns!. The man gasped in surprise to find this tiny thing, couldn’t be more than 2 years old, here alone beside the path. Then he went right to work, pulling out the pocket knife his father had given him when he was a boy and cutting away the branches that held the child in place. As he was working around her, she was sucking her thumb looking at him intensely – at times fiercely and at times pleadingly for him to make it better.
One day the man was returning from his walk and heard a whimpering. He knelt down to check the dogs with him to be sure no one was hurt, then told them to be quiet so he could hear where the sound came from. It seemed to come from his right, on the other side of the bushes, and thorn-berry vines. He looked for a place to cut through the brambles but none was close by, so, picking up his feet very high to avoid as many thorns as possible, he stepped into the greenery, following the whimper. The dogs waited patiently, for they knew he would return – he always did. Slowly, he worked his way toward the sound. Sometimes he had to stop moving, because the sound stopped when he made any noise. Finally, he felt he was almost on top of it, but he couldn’t see anything brown, black, or yellow-dog color through the thick green leaves – what could it be? Then he saw a flicker of movement, a bit of pink. It was a child! A little girl! Her pink sweater was all tangled up in the thorns!. The man gasped in surprise to find this tiny thing, couldn’t be more than 2 years old, here alone beside the path. Then he went right to work, pulling out the pocket knife his father had given him when he was a boy and cutting away the branches that held the child in place. As he was working around her, she was sucking her thumb looking at him intensely – at times fiercely and at times pleadingly for him to make it better.
“Oh my Lord,” the man thought, “this is a pickle! I know what to do for a dog, but this is a little girl! I’m trusting you to guide my actions and make sure that all is well for her and her family. Yes, indeed!” So passed almost an hour, as slowly but carefully, the man extracted the child from her leafy trap. Finally she was free! The man wiped his knife, closed it and returned it to its pocket. Then, gently, joyfully, he lifted the child out of the greenery and carefully worked his way back to the path, where the dogs still waited patiently. “Well, here’s a new discovery, boys!” he cried gleefully, “And a new adventure – we get to find out where she belongs!”
The dogs were curious, as always, about this new addition to the pack. They sniffed her all over, tickling her with their wet noses, and the child began to giggle. “Puppeeee!” she announced. And the man, surprised at her speech, smiled. “Yes, they are puppies,” he said, “and you are a little girl. What’s your name, little girl?” The child glared at him, “Not little!” she exclaimed, then “Cawa! I be Cawa!” Hmmm, that didn’t quite sound right to the man, “Carol?” he asked, “No! Cawa!” she exclaimed. “Oh dear,” thought the man, “a lost child with an incomprehensible name – this one is definitely yours, Lord!”
“Down!” the child said, and the man understood that she wanted him to let go of her. Gently he set her feet on the path next to the dogs, and she immediately waded into them, lost her balance as they rubbed against her legs, and sat down suddenly on the ground. She looked up at him and, seeing that he watched her fall, started to yell, but was immediately distracted by all the furry faces and wet noses crowding around her. “Puppeees!” she said again, and started patting and pounding and tugging on the dogs in ways no grown-up would ever dare, but somehow infants get away with. The man smiled then straightened up and looked around. “Hmmm. Where could she have come from? Not far, given the size of her.” But there were no houses visible at this point on the path, and he knew there were none ahead of them. Well, he’d have to take her back into town and see what they could find out there. He bent over, scooped her up onto his shoulder with one arm, grabbed his walking stick with the other, and turned back down the path along the way he’d come.
“Me walk!” came the child’s voice, much too close to his ear. “No, little one, not right now. We’ve got to get back while the shops are still open if we’re to find out where you belong.” The little girl was clearly not happy with this, and the man did not want to see any more tears, so he started to sing a song, making it up as they went along – a song about a little girl named Cawa who got tangled in the vines and was on her way home. This seemed to please the child and they made good time heading back down the hill into town.
The man was beginning to feel the weight of her on his shoulder – he wondered again, as he often had in the past, picking up strays, how something so small could become so heavy so quickly – when he realized they were coming to the little chapel near the town cemetery. The door, as always, was open, but he didn’t go in, stopping on the steps, instead, and sitting down for a rest. Once again the little girl was placed happily with the dogs, who patiently put up with her patting, pounding and tugging. “I wonder who you are,” the man said watching her with a smile, “and why the Lord brought you to me.”
The dogs were curious, as always, about this new addition to the pack. They sniffed her all over, tickling her with their wet noses, and the child began to giggle. “Puppeeee!” she announced. And the man, surprised at her speech, smiled. “Yes, they are puppies,” he said, “and you are a little girl. What’s your name, little girl?” The child glared at him, “Not little!” she exclaimed, then “Cawa! I be Cawa!” Hmmm, that didn’t quite sound right to the man, “Carol?” he asked, “No! Cawa!” she exclaimed. “Oh dear,” thought the man, “a lost child with an incomprehensible name – this one is definitely yours, Lord!”
“Down!” the child said, and the man understood that she wanted him to let go of her. Gently he set her feet on the path next to the dogs, and she immediately waded into them, lost her balance as they rubbed against her legs, and sat down suddenly on the ground. She looked up at him and, seeing that he watched her fall, started to yell, but was immediately distracted by all the furry faces and wet noses crowding around her. “Puppeees!” she said again, and started patting and pounding and tugging on the dogs in ways no grown-up would ever dare, but somehow infants get away with. The man smiled then straightened up and looked around. “Hmmm. Where could she have come from? Not far, given the size of her.” But there were no houses visible at this point on the path, and he knew there were none ahead of them. Well, he’d have to take her back into town and see what they could find out there. He bent over, scooped her up onto his shoulder with one arm, grabbed his walking stick with the other, and turned back down the path along the way he’d come.
“Me walk!” came the child’s voice, much too close to his ear. “No, little one, not right now. We’ve got to get back while the shops are still open if we’re to find out where you belong.” The little girl was clearly not happy with this, and the man did not want to see any more tears, so he started to sing a song, making it up as they went along – a song about a little girl named Cawa who got tangled in the vines and was on her way home. This seemed to please the child and they made good time heading back down the hill into town.
The man was beginning to feel the weight of her on his shoulder – he wondered again, as he often had in the past, picking up strays, how something so small could become so heavy so quickly – when he realized they were coming to the little chapel near the town cemetery. The door, as always, was open, but he didn’t go in, stopping on the steps, instead, and sitting down for a rest. Once again the little girl was placed happily with the dogs, who patiently put up with her patting, pounding and tugging. “I wonder who you are,” the man said watching her with a smile, “and why the Lord brought you to me.”
Just then the local police car drove up, stopping right in front of the chapel steps. “Looks like you found another stray,” the man in uniform smiled as he climbed out of the car, “but that pink sweater tells me it’s not your usual brand of critter.’ “No indeed,” said the man, “I just heard whimpering and had to respond.”
“Whimpering?” the officer studied the child, concerned. “No worries; her sweater was just caught in the brambles beside the trail, back up the hill a bit,” said the man.
“Well, that explains it” the patrolman said. “Explains what?” “Why we have a missing persons bulletin out on a 2-year-old girl,” came the response, “apparently she was in a bike trailer this morning and when her dad stopped for water she crawled out, but because it was a downhill stretch he didn’t notice until he got to town.”
“Yes indeed! It does explain it! Well I’ve saved you a bit of a search, then! I’m glad!” “And” the patrolman said, pulling out a business card, “you’ve earned a reward. Quite a bit of money, in fact. Probably enough to fix up that old house of yours and build a proper kennel for these mutts!”
“Reward? I don’t need a reward! I was just doing what anyone would do!” “No, my friend,” came the reply “You just did what you do, and that’s not at all what most folks would do. Take the reward. Think of it as God saying ‘Thank you’ for being His helper in this insane world we live in.”
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