It began as a gentle urge: while watching neighbors walk their dogs, viewing news stories about overcrowding at the animal shelter, or hearing stories from family and friends. Then the gentle push changed into a direct order: I was to be home to an animal in need. David wasn’t so sure. As a teen, he’d been assigned the job of taking the ailing family dog to be put down, because his mother “just couldn’t face it.” And, also, there was the expense.
 
Together we arrived at a decision which saw us motoring to the shelter with two puppies we’d found on their website in mind. The first pup was being treated for a respiratory infection and was unavailable. I felt relieved: I had neither the skills nor the resources to care for an ailing pet: just a backyard and some love to give.
 
We met our second choice, a female German Shepherd pup who looked stern and noble, and who acted sweet and goofy. We asked the usual questions: house trained? Good with children? Dietary needs? And began the adoption process. Toward the end, the staffer mentioned “positive for heart worms” and then slid a treatment sheet under my eyes. My heart stopped. Weeks of pills, painful injections, more weeks of almost complete crate rest.
 
I could not do this. I could not not do this.
 
We drove the pup home and got her set up as best we could. I expected her to whine through the night. She did not. Instead, I kept myself awake: a stranger was in our house. One I’d no idea how to be with or how to care for. The name given the pup at the shelter didn’t quite fit her. I thought if I could find a name that felt like the pup, maybe I could begin to know how to care for her. I spent a sleepless night going through the alphabet, searching. By morning, I’d narrowed it down to three names, and, with David, chose Maddie in honor of one of our favorite writers, Madeleine L’Engle who knew the importance of naming and whose novels boasted some awesome dogs.

 
And there was more: the shelter staff told us Maddie was afraid of other dogs. Because we had no plans to get another dog, I didn’t see that as a problem—until I took her for a walk. She couldn’t make it to the end of the street before scrambling back to our door in a panic. I had visualized her accompanying us on our walks. What now?
 
It’s been seven weeks now. Maddie has finished her first round of medication. In a few days, she gets her first injection, followed by weeks of crate rest, another injection, a third, and then more crate rest. I’m grateful we’ve had this time for her to explore. She walks the neighborhood now, has made some human and doggie friends, and even deliberately pooped a couple of times outside the fence of a particularly aggressive dog. She has a home and a family. And food she doesn’t have to scavenge (although she doesn’t consider our morning walk complete without at least one cicada snack). Our daughters buy Maddie treats, toys, and necessities. They share Maddie stories with their friends, so she has global support. David plays with her, tossing toys into the air; she jumps and scrambles after them, tail beating the air with joy. All this will strengthen Maddie, I hope, for the difficulties to come.
 
I mentioned earlier that the urge to adopt Maddie morphed into marching orders. That’s often my experience of God: as a General who shows up, gives me an assignment, and proceeds on to other needed work. For the Maddie marching order, I am grateful—for Maddie, for myself, for my husband, for my daughters, for all the people cheering for her. I guess I don’t have to always be up for what I’m to do. Just willing.
 
How do you visualize God? Has God given you an assignment you didn’t feel up for? How did it turn out? We would love to hear from you. Share your Soul & Solace thoughts at contact@aspaciousplace.com.