I sat on the sofa on Saturday afternoon, folding laundry with an ear toward the porch screen door, waiting for our dog Archie’s quiet ruff that let me know he was ready to come in. He loves our backyard, and the fence we’d put in last spring was the best thing ever. No more rope to keep him safe from the narrow winding mountain road we lived on–too often an invitation to speed racers to show their stuff.
Archie had a pack of dogs he played with at the park, but a Jack Russell terrier can’t get enough exercise. Well, Archie isn’t as hyper as many of his breed, and we joke that he’s really a lap dog at heart. He’d be happy to find me sitting down and would curl up like a comma right beside me, I knew.
I turned my head to the window facing the road when I heard a horn toot. “Someone’s dog!” a woman called from her car. “Someone’s dog is in the middle of the road.” She honked in little spurts so as not to scare the dog, I supposed…
Wait! Archie? I tore out of the house.
Sure enough, there he was, sitting on the yellow line, his tawny brown head hung low. “Archie Boy, what are doing out here? How did you get out?” I scooped him up in my arms. He knew he’d done wrong.
“I love animals,” the woman said. “I always go extra slow in this neighborhood, careful to watch out for deer and foxes, even those little rascally squirrels. I love them all.”
“I am so thankful it was you driving by. To think what could have happened if it had been anyone else.”
Our earth angel went on her way. Archie led me to the hole in the fence and waited patiently on his rope while I patched it up. We were blessed that day.
