Last week I told you about my little dog named Poco who was lost and I’ll continue the story. I left off with Poco missing….But there was a message on my phone….

“My name is Bob Johnson,” played the message. “I think I know where your dog is. Call this number for more information.” I quickly phoned, hoping he had my little companion.

After I asked several questions about Poco, Bob began a long story. “My wife and I were walking down Sixty-Third Avenue on Friday evening when we noticed a big dog trying to fight with yours. We picked the little guy up and took him home with us. There was no tag so we kept him.”

“I know he doesn’t have a tag. I’ve been meaning to do that,” I said regretfully.

Bob paused for a moment. “He didn’t seem to be injured. Mostly scared.” That sounded like Poco. He had the Chihuahua-bold heart but underneath the bravado was fear. “I’m a pyro-technician and I had a fireworks show at Neskowin—you know, the small coastal town—for their Fourth celebration. We didn’t feel comfortable leaving your dog home alone, so we took him with us. When our fireworks show was over and we were ready to drive home, we realized Poco had run away!” Once again, the loud sounds and commotion had frightened Poco and off he went. “We tried to find him, but I had to get back to Vancouver to my job the next day. I felt terrible, leaving him there, but we didn’t know what else to do.” Now Poco was a hundred miles away from home!

He continued his story. “I called the mayor of the town and asked her to check the animal shelter for a lost dog. Sure enough, they found a Chihuahua wandering about a mile down from the fireworks site. It’s a real miracle!”

“My grandsons and I have been praying that a miracle would happen and we would find him,” I said, shaking my head in amazement.

“My wife is willing to make the drive to the beach, but we’d appreciate some help for the gas,” he said hesitantly.

“Of course,” I said, relieved I didn’t have to take the time off and make the drive myself.

After work the next day, I walked over to the Johnsons’ to pick up Poco. “He hasn’t eaten anything. He must really miss you,” Mrs. Johnson said.

Poco seemed aloof; wary of me. So many strangers had reached out to him that he was thoroughly confused and scared.

I cuddled him as I walked back to my house and put him down in the backyard where he slowly explored, sniffing. Soon he began running and barking joyfully. He trotted up to me and took a swipe at my cheek with his tongue. His fear had seemed to vanish. Poco was home—my little guy was back.

Poco Cervato

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I like to think of my life as an adventure. Not that all of the “adventure” is necessarily happy or even fun. There is sadness. Loss. Disappointment. And joy. I hope that through these ups and downs during my life, I have learned to share with others the hope that I have in my relationship with Christ. At this moment, I am waiting in a hospital waiting room while my husband Jim has an angiogram to see if there is a blockage in the arteries to his heart. I am trusting God to take care of him during the procedure and when they determine what to do. I know his life–and mine are in His hands.

Back to Poco’s story.

The following year while celebrating Independence Day, there were the usual fireworks and noise. I’d been gone all evening and I let Poco out the back yard that was fenced–however that feisty six pound chihuahua wanted to explore–and easily squeezed under the gate and down the road he ran. Just as the previous year, he ran as fast as he could. He was not street smart and didn’t know to look out for cars.  Ten blocks later, Poco met a speeding vehicle on a busy road.

The next day, after reporting my dog missing on the neighborhood watch list, a neighbor said they thought they saw Poco on the side of the road. Sure enough, I found the lifeless body of Poco lying still on the shoulder of the road.

My heart was broken, finding him there, dead. He chose to leave the safety of our back yard for adventure and his life was cut short because of his choice.

I put Poco in a shoebox, lined with soft cloth. My two grandsons were with me when I buried him in our back yard. I’ll not forget what Andrew said, “At least it wasn’t a human that died.” He knew about death in his short life. He was only six years old when his grandpa died and though losing a pet is difficult, much different than a loved one.

Life is uncertain. I am happy to report Jim didn’t need a stint. There is blockage, but it can be controlled with diet and medication. We are grateful. As our days progress on this earth, we know we will one day pass from this life to eternity. We treasure every day we have and are grateful to God for his gift of love and salvation. God is good–all the time!

On to our next adventure!