Dustbunny Dudley



     We are pretty sad in the neighborhood this week. We lost a long time buddy to everyone around here. Dudley was 11. Pretty good to reach that age for a Golden Retriever, but when you have a terrific owner that takes really good care of you, you can reach that age.
     Dudley was just the best. He loved everyone, he loved the daycare kids for years, loved hiking, loved life. He was a great dog. I'm missing him and just wanted to share one of the funnier stories about him. It still falls under the category of an adventure. Just didn't have to leave home for this one.
    

    Ron and I were dog sitting one time years ago. Ron was recovering from hernia surgery at the time. We were sleeping peacefully early Friday morning, 4:30 a.m. to be exact, when I started being stirred awake by the bed jiggling.  In my fuzzy, not awake state of mind, I figured that Gus, our dog, was leaning against the bed scratching or something so I whispered, "Stop it!"  Not wanting to wake up fully, but the bed kept jiggling.  So I whispered again, a little louder, "What are you doing?" so as not to wake up Ron.   

     Then I heard claw marks on the wood floor kind of doing this spinning, sliding, clawing for dear life noise.  Now I am fully awake realizing that there is a dog under the bed.  So I reach over the side of the bed and snap my fingers and say, "Come out here whoever you are!"  Suddenly, a large Dudley face is stretching for all he's worth his way out from under the frame of the bed.  Only his face. So I say again, "Come on Dudley, what are you doing??"  Now he's clawing madly with his feet well away from each side of his head and spreading wider as he tries to pull himself out, doing his best to mind my command. He was doing the butterfly stroke like in swimming. So I say to myself, the - what 80 pound? - dog is stuck under the bed!  Thinking I better get off the bed because my weight must be hindering his process, so I try to pull on him, no that won't work.  He's wedged!  So I try to swing his leg under to get him on his side, much like a breach baby trying to be born, that's not working either.  Hmmmmm....Dudley now is just sort of looking up at me with those big, sad, Golden Retriever eyes while I call him a dummy.  Now Ron is awake and rolls over and says, "What's going on?"  I say, "Dudley is stuck under the bed!"  Ron -in his helpful way -starts cracking up!!  Meanwhile, I'm on my bad knees trying to pull a huge dog out from under a king size bed, then I figure I have to lift the bed to get him out, so I lift my side, and through a straining voice say, "Come on Dudley, come on!"  Ron is still laughing holding his belly.  Dudley is dragging, sliding, clawing, pulling his way out between the bed and my dresser while I'm holding the side of the bed up in the air. There is a serious lack of space for this long, big body. Ron is now laughing totally out of control ON THE BED.  Was I laughing, no, not so much. Remember, it's 4:30 in the morning.  Finally, Dudley is free!  He had a plastic newspaper dog toy in his mouth from under the bed (his mission accomplished) so then he starts making his Chewy Chewbacka noise with this toy in his mouth, happy as a clam.  Finally I get to crawl back under the covers, Ron is still laughing out of control and holding his gut.  He says, "I'm gonna blow another hernia cuz I can't quit laughing!"  I say, "Yea, explain this to the emergency room surgeon." It took us another hour I bet to stop the giggling.  Ron kept picturing in his mind what Dudley must have looked like under the bed then he'd crack up again just as I was nodding off.  We finally settled down realizing there would be no more dustbunnies under the bed for a very long time. Dudley took care of them all.

    We slept in that morning! 



We will miss you Dudders.



Gold Fever with Heart

   I’ve always looked at Labor Day as a time to celebrate hard work and American ingenuity. There were times in our nation that the worker was taken advantage of or even used and abused. This modern day holiday is a time to acknowledge that folks spend their lives in this country working hard to improve their lifestyle and provide for their families. Sometimes just to survive.

   In our nation, there are many ways to make a living. Options are unending if you’re willing to work at it.

   I met a couple of men over the holiday weekend that are really living up to that American Dream. But beyond that, their kindness, generosity and giving spirits struck me to write about them.

   My sister was here visiting for a couple of days from Minnesota. We were driving her around the mountains near us sightseeing and also looking for a specific spot in a mountain stream. A spot with black sand.

   My adult nephew is back in Minnesota with his own struggle to survive kidney disease. His life is full of health issues and days upon days of dialysis. He has a lot of down time and developed an interest in learning about gold panning and mining. He watches a lot of shows about it now that the Discovery Channel has numerous programs about this challenging occupation. His request of his mom on her trip was to bring him some black sand to practice panning with. So we were on a mission.

   In one particular canyon over the last hundred years, a lot of gold had been found in the cold mountain creek. We drove along looking down at the water hoping to find a calmer spot where sand could have collected. And maybe even some gold. We forgot to bring a bucket, but I did have a plastic potato chip container. I emptied the contents into a bag, wiped it out and had it all ready to fill with gold laden sand.

   We spotted a couple of pickup trucks parked on the pull-off next to the creek. The back ends loaded up with what we guessed was gold extracting equipment. They had just made their way up the rather steep bank as the sun was setting behind the hills. I parked behind them, walked up to one and asked if this was a public area for gold panning. I’m sure they got a good chuckle thinking this crazy woman didn’t even have grubby clothes on and she wants to pan?

   They said it was for anyone with questioning glances at me. Undaunted, I pressed on to explain briefly about my nephew and that he can’t really travel to do this sort of thing and we hoped to just send some creek bed back with his mom so he could try panning.

   The one man got a spark of a look on his face, held up a finger and said, “Hold on a minute. I have something you can take to him.”

   This was getting odder.

   He went to the passenger side of his white pick-up that was plastered with bumper stickers about America and God. That’s a good sign. He dug around tossing stuff up out of his way muttering, “Where did I put that?” I stood next to the truck wondering what this was all about and have I met a nutcase?

   My sister walked up and with a look that asked if I was crazy she said quietly, “What are you doing?”

   I shrugged. I had no idea what I was doing or what I was waiting for.

   His head popped back out of the cab with the exclamation of, “Here it is.” He held a small plastic zip locked bag out to me and said, “This was given to me and guaranteed to have gold in it. Give this to your nephew.”

   It looked like a bunch of sand to me. Somewhere within and out of sight could hold flecks of gold and this man was handing it over.

   What??!! Why would this man give this to us? He went on to explain that he was given it and he wanted to pass it on. I was dumbstruck by the generous gift. Obviously no nuggets were within the bag, but who knows how much gold dust there could be.

   The other man had joined us by this point along with my husband who had been walking up behind my sister. We chatted about their learning curve several years ago when they began the adventure of searching for gold. They didn’t share how much money they make doing this ingenious and undependable method of income, but by the looks of their equipment, they must be making some. They showed us their sluicing method that separates the first stage of the process and the fine sand that was left over. One of their buckets held that product along with some strange magnetic something or ‘nother.

   The next shocking bit of generosity was when the second man said, “Open up your container.” He began to scoop out the processed sand out of their bucket and transferred it into ours. Then he said, “Give this to your nephew and tell him it’s been through the first sifting. He should pan it and he’ll find gold.”

   This was so surprising that they’d turn over their processed dirt. That took some work. Granted the best stuff was still in that magnetic thing, but still. They didn’t have to do that. We were willing to go down to the bank and just scoop up some sand and see what he could get out of it.

   This happenstance visit in a Colorado canyon as twilight approached really reaffirmed in me that there are still some really good people out there. Hard working, generous people.  

   Gold fever over the centuries has turned a lot of good folks into greedy people, but we happened upon a couple of really kind hearted men that work hard to add a little extra into their pockets. Men that wanted to share the prospect of gold with a young man they’ll never meet, but a man that shares their interest. One that isn’t able to get out there working the sand. They are providing just a little bit of blessing. I hope they know it.

   We were all pretty speechless but so enjoyed talking with them and hearing what they went through to learn the work, to succeed in the work. Isn’t that the American Dream after all? Work, learn the job and do it well.

   I came across this verse in 1 Timothy starting in verse 17 and it made me think of these two modern day gold prospectors, “Instruct those who are rich (not that they’re rich, but they are after riches) in this present world not to be conceited or to fix their hope on the uncertainty of riches, but on God, who richly supplies us with all things to enjoy.

 Instruct them to do good, to be rich in good works, to be generous and ready to share, storing up for themselves the treasure of a good foundation for the future, so that they may take hold of that which is life indeed.”

   I believe God set that meeting up, I believe that he put it on their hearts to share what God had provided for them in that creek, and I believe that their hearts are good and generous. They just stored something up that can’t be found here on earth.

   Matthew 6:20 “But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys, and where thieves do not break in or steal.”

Rescue in the Caribbean

     I’m straying a thousand miles from my usual Colorado adventures. Being a writer at heart, when things happen, events take place, or something just plain touches me deeply, I must write about it. The latter happened on a recent dream vacation.

     We were blessed to take a Disney Cruise with our daughter and her husband a couple weeks ago. We planned this dream for a couple years and it finally came true. You know the Disney saying, “Dreams really do come true!” The biggest blessing was being able to spend a week with our kids just having fun. Going on adventures together as family.

     We looked forward to our planned excursions of swimming with dolphins, seeing Mayan Ruins for the first time ever, and a dune buggy ride on an island leading to a snorkel adventure.

Blue as blue can be.

     The ship was beautiful. We loved exploring it at every opportunity on the first full day out to sea. The sky was clear and blue as we headed through the Straits of Florida heading southwest toward the western edge of Cuba. Grand Cayman being our first destination. The water far below us was a blue like you’ve never seen. One can’t even describe the beauty of the water as you head for the Caribbean Sea. It just gets better as you go. The color alone can instill such peace in your heart, let alone being on vacation and no worries that you could do anything about.

     We had gone to a delightful church service that Sunday morning up in one of the funnels with thirteen other people. Afterward, we played the shipboard game of detective work seeking an animated framed painting that came to life with your special card giving you the needed clues. When we succeeded in “rescuing the Dalmatian puppies” in the game, we decided to head to lunch. Something felt odd as we walked down the hallway, and stepping out on deck we realized the ship was turning a wide circle. We made our way to the upper deck where people were gathering at the rail on the port side. Everyone was sharing news that some people were waving from a boat needing help.

     The Captain’s voice came over the loud speaker stating that they had indeed spotted someone in distress and were turning back to help.

     This particular cruise ship is almost four football fields in length, so seeing it turn a circle is quite something. We were all watching, searching the calm sea for sign of this boat. Everyone had their cameras on zoom scanning the vast horizon for this boat. Speculation of the situation rolled through the crowd of voices.

     Just a speck was spotted forward from the boat at about eleven o’clock. My husband Ron zoomed in as far as our camera would allow seeing people sitting on something. All those around us, wanted to see what his camera picked up.

     The ship drew nearer moving at a snail’s pace. The excitement of this rescue at sea built stronger among the crowd gathered at the rail.

     Our cabins were on the port side of the ship and we shared a balcony. Since it was difficult to see over so many heads, well…except for Ron who stands six-four, we went below to watch the rescue. We now had some great “seats” to watch this unfold.

     From our balcony, we saw through our telephoto lens, four men positioned on a crude raft made from inner tubes likely tied together and covered with an old brown canvas. Towed behind, was another uncovered tube that held a make-shift sail and homemade paddles, all lying down; the sail being unnecessary since there were only light, soft ripples from a slight breeze on the sea around them.

     The men didn’t look overly distressed, but the whole scene appeared to us – on our luxurious ship – to be one of desperation. There was no more room on that raft than holding those four men and a smattering of supplies. There would be no stretching their legs on that craft.

     They had three hats on board, the kind that is woven out of wide blade grass. One of the men wore a long sleeve white shirt, the others had short sleeves. All wore shorts. I imagined myself with my beyond white Scandinavian skin color being stranded out to sea like that under a hot Caribbean sun, and how it wouldn’t take long to turn the color of an overly ripe tomato until I was sick from the heat. I could not imagine how these men felt before spotting our ship.

     The ship was now at full stop. The water no longer stirred next to the stern where the engines added air to the water turning it a pale blue. We looked down when voices were heard and saw some crew members two decks lower as they readied the speed boat to go investigate the raft. 

     It was almost an eerie feeling being on this huge ship at a total standstill, nothing around us but the deep blue sea. So surreal it was looking at the situation of these men obviously desperate to flee a country that oppressed them so deeply that they could choose this current situation in the hope that they might find something better wherever the sea and the wind would allow them to go. And with the present state of the weather, only the water would steer their raft.

     I tend to research things like this when it is a direct experience. I have a need to know more. In my attempt at understanding, I came upon an article that talked a lot about why so many thousands of people attempt this type of change in their lives. I learned that many die trying to cross the Florida Straits or they are killed by Cuban gunboats as they attempt to leave the island. The Cuban government touts their criminal records, not mentioning that many of the “crimes” are those practicing Christianity, or refusing to serve in a military of an oppressive regime, or if they had been deemed political dissidents, their “crime” was getting food from the black market in order for their family to survive.

     And here we were on a luxury ship sailing away from our cares.

     It was sobering.

     Of course, this as with most things can become and has become a very political topic. I guess I gained a new perspective. It boils down to the fact that these are human beings out there subject to the ocean’s whims and ways. They are searching for something better. Something safer, even if it is at great risk to their lives.

     Our crew went out on the speed boat and circled the raft checking out what they had on board and their demeanor, I imagine. They were close enough to communicate with them. When they determined there was no threat, they brought two of the men on board their boat. We watched the other two load up a large black bag with their meager belongings. When their turn came to be rescued off this crude raft, the bag had to be left behind. The cruise line cannot risk illness, parasites, or danger to the paid passengers. The raft floated away and the coast guard was notified of its last location. They probably sink it. 

     We found out that the refuges would be taken to Grand Cayman, our first port of call. Disney takes very good care of them, getting medical help and then taken to a destination other than Cuba where they would most likely lose their lives.

     I’ve learned this is a more common experience than one might imagine. With millions of refuges over the years trying to escape to a better life, cruise ships in the Florida Straits have picked up a fair share of them. But so many have lost their lives. Men, women and even children.

     Later in the week, the ship turned again. We watched from our balcony as another raft was circled. This one empty. Were they saved? Did they perish?

     The sea was calm this day of rescue. But what of the days when the storms rage, when nothing about their escape seems to go right, when a leak occurs on the raft, when the waves are steep and slam into their poorly made raft, bouncing them into the air, desperately trying to hang on, food and water run out, when the sharks circle…

     Then I thought of my own life. The lives of my friends and loved ones. What do we hang onto when the storms rage? How do we hang on?

     We’ve faced some raging storms over the last year. Certainly not hanging onto a raft for dear life out in the middle of the ocean, but it did tend to feel like that at times. Sometimes life just slams into us. The fact is, disease and aging problems sooner or later affect us all, either personally or in our loved ones. Trials of every kind, financial, emotional, Spiritual come and go often. When I look back over the previous eighteen months and list the inventory of what we went through, I get overwhelmed. Then I realize I got through it. The currents carried me. I made it to shore. I survived. Again.

     But how?

     The only way I know how. I leaned on the Captain of my life. The only One that can get me through these challenging times. The One that can steer me to the answers and provide the comfort and peace that I so desperately need. When at my lowest, I know that I can reach out to my Lord and tell Him that I can’t hold on any longer, that my grip isn’t strong enough to keep me from sinking into the abyss. Then I hear Him say in that still small voice, “I’ve got you. Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to let go!”

Casting Call

   I love to fish. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to find the time. But in April? At 9,000 feet elevation it could be rain, cold, mud season or even a snow storm. The secret to Colorado and adventures like this is to dress in layers. Donning seven layers, we headed for a mountain lake with six of our friends early one Tuesday morning.

   Arriving at Tarryall Reservoir, the sun was shining, the skies were a crystalline blue, and there wasn’t a bit of wind to cause even a ripple on the surface of the water.

   Everyone grabbed a camp chair and their fishing gear to find their position along the shoreline in the hopes of landing the largest trout on record. Okay, so just land a trout or two for dinner.

   There isn’t a better way to spend a day than with great friends and a fishing pole.

   I watched down the bank as Bill pulled in fish after fish. This is not unusual for him. I firmly believe that fish know when Bill has arrived at a lake and they clamor to jump onto his line. Odds are if he walked out into that water with a net, they’d just jump right in for the privilege to go home with him. Their demise being totally worth it if Bill is involved.

   A few others were pulling in a trout now and then. I sat there, holding my new fishing pole, waiting. And waiting. Turns out I waited a lot that day.

   I really didn’t mind. I was quite warm and comfortable waiting. Sitting in a chair. Watching. Observing. Sea Gulls flew overhead, geese took off from the water honking an incredible noise as they went as if that would help them gain altitude, wisps of clouds occasionally floated overhead. Waiting was good.

   The past year and a half or so has really thrown us for a loop. Lots of surgeries, from shoulders to back procedures and a couple other physical ailments. Then our home was robbed to top it all off. Frustration built, a horrible feeling of being overwhelmed ruled the days, worries piled up, even a good dose of fear reigned.

   I sat there staring out over the lake as another goose honked its departure from the water. A sea gull screeched overhead hoping someone would clean their fish. A couple of ducks swam across the way. The reflection of the mountains on the far side of the lake shimmered on the surface. Calmness. Peace. Nature. Beauty.

   God.

   I reeled in to check my bait. None left. So the fish were snacking not attacking.     Harumph. Pull the line back with my finger, lay the pick up over, cast the line back out as far as I could, sit down and wait.

   Hmmm….

   Cast.

   Casting.

   Worries.

   Fear.

   Cast.

   Cast all your anxieties…

   Hmmm….

   I couldn’t resist. I had to reel it in again. Pull line, reach back with the pole, fling it forward while releasing that line. Cast. Release. As that line swooshed through the air, I imagined or maybe I really heard, “Cast all your anxieties on Me, for I care for you.” My husband’s favorite life verse has now become mine.

   I looked up. Blue sky, sparse clouds. Cast.

   All the issues we’ve been facing seemed to fly away from me on that line. At least for the moment. When you have a year like this, every moment of peace counts far more than you’d think. I couldn't help but imagine each care strung onto that line flying farther and farther away. 

   Cast.

   I never did catch a fish that day. But that’s okay. I had caught some peace. I had reeled in some misplaced joy. I hooked a release. I hurled a bunch of problems into the depths where I could no longer see them. For such a time…

   I’m pretty sure I had the best catch of the day.

   Oh, and Bill got another one on the line!

The adventure of getting tangled up in life

   It's been a while since I last blogged. A lot has transpired over the last couple of months or year I should say. Hubby's second rotator cuff surgery for the year. A repair of a massive tear this time. (Long story.) Then I had a bad back problem for the last few months that hindered my ability to sit at my computer. That was very difficult because I missed my writing time.
    So here I am after missing late summer adventures, fall adventures and now wanting the late fall/early winter adventures, but my back doesn't allow for the car rides yet. Thoughts and ideas continued to roll around inside my head, especially now that I can spend a bit of time in my computer chair. I asked my friends what kind of blog post they'd like to see and the most votes came up for elk in my backyard adventures. While we do see elk out our windows often, our best bet is up the canyon.


Elk out our front window.



   One thing I just did not want to miss was the fall rut of the Elk in our area. So we went out looking after we heard they were just up the road every night. A short car ride I figured I could handle. I was pleasantly surprised at what we found.

   Notice the chimes hanging off his antler? Listen carefully and it even clinks as he walks.
   Elk are funny creatures. The males get pretty...well...down right stupid during the rut. If something ticks them off or is just in their way, or quite frankly if they just want to work off some...uh....frustration, they nod those big ol' antlers into the object of their scorn and just rip. It can be quite comical.

   This one just got done annihilating a cattail bed. There had been other males around, all bugling, and the frustration and determination of this guy got the best of him. Apparently they have no comprehension of looking ridiculous. He wore the grass like his reward or crown. My guess is the girls had to be laughing. I know we were.
   Now the problem of decorating antlers isn't exclusive to the elk herds. We are also often visited by the mule deer of the area. Just a couple weeks ago we spotted this guy. Whoever started their Christmas decorating early is missing something. Or perhaps these lights were left somewhere from last Christmas. At any rate, he's ready for Christmas.

   I know what you're thinking. Can't someone help them by removing all this paraphernalia? Not to worry. They all shed those antlers so then they can start fresh next year and find some other articles to decorate with.
   As I thought about writing this post, I also thought about how it relates to my life. Surprisingly, I can relate, but in a different way.
   When we are overwhelmed with frustrating times like  physical disability, or several problems with our injured bodies, we may feel like thrashing our way around and ripping and pulling at the things that confine and restrain us. I know we have struggled with those feelings. Pain is a challenging thing to deal with leading to discouragement, dismay, feelings of never getting out of this situation, and quite frankly a bit of depression.
   So what does one do with all of those emotions? For one thing, desperately hang onto a sense of humor. Sometimes you have to. And then sometimes life just lets things happen that you can only laugh at.
   One day I managed to get some hamburger patties into a pan for lunch. Now understand that we've spent months looking at each other and saying, "Which one of us is up to cooking today?" Usually it was neither one of us, with him in a sling and me spending most of my time flat on my back. So... the hamburgers are in the pan, I hobble my way into the fridge for the onion, at least I wasn't using a cane at this point in time. I shut the fridge which is butted up to the side of the stove, the shake of the door shutting wobbles the large woc off the top of the fridge which lands on the FULL tea kettle sitting on the upper part of the stove. It, of course, tips over pouring water across the stove top putting out the burner under my burgers. The tea kettle falls against my wonderful Whirley Pop popcorn maker and shoots it across the stovetop into the burger pan sending it flying to the floor. Burgers flying up into the air and promptly landing on the floor.
   Remember the game Mouse Trap? Yeah, the burgers landing on the floor went much faster than the game. And the racket it all made was deafening! What could I do? I sure wasn't able to stop the frantic destruction occuring on my stovetop. My hands flew out to the side as I watched the entire stovetop going into self-clean mode. Certain vocabulary words that shouldn't be used did flash through my brain, then I wanted to do some of that head thrashing against anything and everything, then I stopped, looked at the scene as the remaining tea kettle water splooshed out of the spout in rhythm to the radio. I just stood there and laughed. And laughed. And dove ahead of my dog to save the burgers. Not an easy task when you can't bend over without starting back spasms. The five second rule was going to apply that day. (If it's only on the floor for five seconds, it's safe to eat.) (Stop "ewwwing". I wiped them off.)
   I stood there gazing upon the scene on top of my stove. Water filled the indented areas where the burners sit on both sides. The popper, the tea kettle and the woc all sitting in haphazard positions. I grabbed towels to blot it all up so I could relight the burner under our lunch, all the while chuckling.
   During circumstances like these, I tend to start up a conversation with God. I could have stood there banging my head against the wall crying "Why me Lord..." or I can choose the path of laughter instead. It's a much better way to go. That old saying "Laughter is the best medicine" held true for me that day.
   And I know someday, Ron and I will look back at the year of 2011 and laugh at how ridiculous it was for both of us to be laid up for so long. Our thankfulness to our church family, my physical therapist, daughter and son-in-law for the help and meals and all the other ways folks came to minister to us will grow in our hearts.
   We're on the back side of most of the struggle now. There is a light. And knowing THE Light (Jesus) has helped us get through it and He will continue to get us through whatever else life throws our way. Cuz life is FULL of adventures.
   Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

A Flat Out Adventure

     I was anxious to get home to Colorado after helping my parents move to a new home in Wisconsin. I was alone and tired from the long drive all the way into the barren northeast corner of Colorado. It was nearing ten o’clock at night. My only company was my CD collection. Darkness surrounded me not revealing anything and barely any cars traveled the route in either direction.

     I had driven all day long. Not wanting to spend the night at a hotel, I felt determined enough to continue and complete the 19 hour trip. As I cruised along at the 75 mile per hour speed limit, suddenly the car wavered back and forth with furious intent. I immediately slowed trying to grasp what had happened. Then it dawned on me that I must have a flat tire. 

     I groaned. It was a very warm night on the Colorado plains and it had been a long time since I’d attempted to change a tire. Plus it was on the driver’s side, the highway side, and it was difficult to get far off the road in this section. 

    I sat there for a bit trying to calm down after getting the wobbly car off to the right side as far as I could. I drove a GMC Jimmy and had the seat in back folded down. I looked back to where my full size spare tire sat underneath all the many things I brought home with me that Mom and Dad didn’t want anymore. That included a small electric organ that was completely covering the tire. How was I going to get at the tire? I cried a little with my head in my hands, elbows on the steering wheel, then prayed a lot. 

      Knowing that wallowing in my dilemma was doing no good, I got out and opened the back end. I began pulling and moving things trying to make my way to the tire. A semi truck barreled past me rocking the car with its wind gust. I prayed more. Lord, I need help! I need an angel! 

     I hadn’t gotten very far with making my way to the spare, when a pick-up truck slowed down and pulled off the highway in front of my vehicle. I looked around in the darkness, fear growing, as the pick-up backed up, then pulled alongside of me since no traffic was coming. 

     I had my hand on the metal pipe for the jack and gripped it tighter.

     “Hi,” an older woman said from the passenger window of the truck. Relief flooded my being. “Can you use some help?”

     I was so thankful to see friendly faces. The woman and her husband had just left a church dinner and were heading back to their ranch. 

     I had an innner chuckle for the angels that just arrived. 

     They parked behind my car, headlights lighting up the situation. I had my puny scissor jack pulled out and handed it toward the big barrel of a man. The strong ranch owner took one look at it, shook his head and walked back to his truck without a word. He removed a large hydraulic jack from the back end. In no time at all, he had the car raised up, the tire pulled out from under the organ, all while I visited with this sweet woman. In what seemed an instant, he was finished.

     My gratitude was overwhelming. Knowing I would have been out there in the dark for a very long time trying to change that tire unable to see anything past the darkness off the side of the road. The man finished up, was putting his jack back in his truck when I remembered I had some special prints from my mom. She is an amazing artist and had lots of extra copies of her beautiful scenes originally painted then made into prints. Mom sent me home with a box full. I had four different scenes. I asked them to wait, I had something for them and I jumped into the back end. Reaching into the box amidst the piles of other things now in disarray, with the addition of a shredded tire. 

    The man said, “No that’s alright. You don’t have to give us anything.” 

     I insisted. My heart pounded knowing what I could give them in thanks if I could just gain access to it.

     Finding the large flat box, I reached in as quickly as I could so they wouldn’t leave without a proper thank you and pulled out the first one I could get my fingers on within the well packed cardboard container. 

     I rushed back to their truck, handed it to the wife explaining that my mother had done these.  I had extra and I wanted them to have something for saving me. The woman held it up in the light of their headlights. Something similar to a look of shock seemed to appear on her face. 

     Her husband was still trying to say no, looking back and forth between us women, when we noticed that a tear had formed in the woman’s eye and began to run down her cheek. Then he looked at the print noting the scene depicted. He stopped his declining, put a huge smile on his face and said, “My wife collects pheasants. They're all over in our house.”

     I had, by divine intervention pulled out the print of a winter scene and pheasants in a field. It could have been the print of the ducks, the deer, the eagle, but no, it was the pheasants. We parted with hugs and thanks on both sides. The man waited for me to get back in my car and drive away. They followed me for several miles to make sure I was on my way safely. Tears ran down my own face as I waved them away at an exit knowing they would have to back-track to get to their own exit.

     The kindness of this ranching couple in the plains of Colorado, during the darkest of night, will never be forgotten. I don't believe so much in coincidence, but I definitely believe in God-cidence. Providence. Who knew that a gift of pheasants could be such a ministry in two directions. Angels apparently come in all shapes and sizes.

Pheasants on the highway!



The Ever Watchful One

     A number of years ago, I had an exciting adventure meeting wolves face to face. Always found the creatures fascinating, so when the opportunity arrived, I was all over that.
     It was a sloppy spring. Mud season as we call it in Colorado. Snow still remained in large patches in the forest at the 9,000 foot elevation. The driveway into the wolf sanctuary was in tough shape after the long hard winter, so walking in from the main road our only choice.
     Having been invited, my friend and I made our way over the muddy, sticky ruts down the hill to the main house. Our hiking boots slurped and slooped as we pulled our feet through the mess.
     All the while we walked, we were watched. We sort of felt it before we saw it. "Lobo" (fitting name) a white wolf kept a vigil from a distance. His long, white legs paced across the hill behind the trees as much as he could keep himself "hidden".

Ever mindful of each step we took, each movement we made, each sound uttered (ever so quietly on our part).  We knew he was there, so we kept one eye in the direction of the wild animal, the other eye manuevering around the slop. You never heard his steps, but you couldn't mistake the warning he sent out of intruders invading his territory.

     Wild may not be the best term for Lobo. Living in fenced in acreage, it limits the wild. But he was his own wolf. The Alpha, the one in control, the one in charge. I had no problem allowing him his self-imposed supremacy.

     We met the woman that ran the sanctuary at the bottom of the hill. A hearty handshake welcomed us warmly for our day to learn about wolves.

     She pointed out that a pure wolf has a very flat forehead. The area from the top of its head down the nose has very little drop like a dog does. Also the tail of a true wolf is flat without the friendly little curl we are used to seeing on a canine.

     Wolves and hybrids came to this sanctuary when injured or owners decided they no longer want them. Many of the animals there were Mexican Grays. Also Eastern Timbers and Reds.

     Camera in tow, I was perfectly happy to shoot them through the fencing. This was back in the day of regular film.

     The owner soon told me I was welcome to enter the pen with instruction on MY behavior. My heart began this flapjack flippin' thing, but I wasn't about to pass up the opportunity of a lifetime.

     She opened the gate, we entered slowly, cautiously, guarding our every move.

     The Mexican Grays were most leary of us. The darkest one paced nervously at these intruders of his space. Back and forth, never taking his eyes off of us.

At that point, kneeling seemed to lessen the intimidation felt by the animal.

Never had I experienced such excitement, exhilaration, adrenaline coursing through my veins, all the while doing everything I could to push any fear far down into a part of my being that could not be detected by the wolves. I hoped.

     I knelt there snapping away when one of these magnificent animals moved in close. No, not for the kill! For a lick!

     Now, I like to think that he got comfortable with me and knew I wasn't a threat. Hopefully, he wasn't tasting me. Either way, I felt something that day. A trust between two creatures. A moment of contact with an animal feared for generations. An animal that some would rather see eradicated. One of God's creations.
     In the distance, we could still see Lobo silently but rapidly pacing the forest. Watching over his domain. Waiting.
     Looking back on this adventure, it reminds me of something far greater. SomeONE far greater who watches over me, keeps His guard up for me, but He doesn't have to pace nervously. He calmly watches, guides my steps, directs my path. Do I slow down long enough to listen for directions? I hope so. The last thing I want to do is run willy-nilly into the face of danger.
     Take time to see what God has made. Experience it. Don't allow fear to hold you back from what could rank as one of your most memorable adventures!

Trust in the Lord with all your heart

Lean not on your own understanding.

In all your ways acknowledge Him

And He will direct your path!

Proverbs 3:5-6