When You Can’t Stand it…

Murdoch, a lovable bundle of energy that rivals even Jacob, came to us last August. A relative of one of Paul’s co-workers was needing to find a new home for him. We hadn’t planned on even considering a dog until sometime after the new year – After all we had just moved out here and I was pregnant. REALLY pregnant! We discussed it and prayed about it. The answer came and it was a yes.

Well, if I thought that a yes answer meant that Murdoch would be peaches and cream and perfectly trained, then I was in trouble. Because….

He’s not. He was potty trained – sort of – mainly it was an adjustment of new surroundings and owners I think. But even with that fixed mostly, he chewed on stuff, didn’t know any of the most basic commands and has a stubborness that rivals all six of my kids put together. Maybe he was sent to teach me patience – haha. Oh and he jumps on people – and did I mention he’s HUGE? The jumping is getting better – sort of – he seems to go in spurts.

All his annoying quirks aside, he’s a lot of fun and, while the training is slow and sometimes agonizing, he’s getting better. The biggest problem is when he gets loose.

Trying to get Murdoch back is like trying to catch a giggling toddler playing keep-away who can run as fast as a car… and he really can – I watched him pace several cars. He’ll let you get within inches and the moment you flinch, he’ll be half way down the street.

So, there I am this morning, in the rain, with two little boys and an escaped dog. The boys were inside – but I was nervous (for obvious reasons) to go very far to try to catch him. I tried dog treats, toys, patiently waiting and lunging for him, I had neighbors help. He knew all our tricks and wouldn’t have anything to do with it.

My laundry went undone, the store went unvisited, fun with my two littlest boys went unhad all while I tried to get the dog back. I was frustrated beyond belief and even told Paul to call the pound on our own dog cause I didn’t care anymore. I had tried everything and nothing had worked.

But then as I sat upstairs at my computer – seething in anger – I glanced at my Mom’s facebook profile and saw this:

I thought, “Did you pray?” Uh. Gee. Duh. I felt a little silly about not having thought about that solution. So I prayed. I prayed that if it be His will that we keep the dog (and half of me by now was hoping it wouldn’t be His will) that when I walked outside this time I’d be able to catch him without a problem.

I finished my prayer and walked outside. I couldn’t see him and wondered if the pound had already snagged him (it happened once before). The I saw him two houses down. He raised his head, looked at me and started walking towards me, just a slow sauntering walk.

I continued to pray. Murdoch walked right up to me and didn’t even flinch as I patted his head and hooked the leash to him. I suppose that means were supposed to keep him. šŸ™‚ He’s a good dog (even if he refuses to get along with the cat – ha ha) and is improving every day. And I do love him, but sometimes…. grrrrrrr. šŸ˜€

I am grateful for prayer. I am grateful for a loving Heavenly Father who answers my prayers no matter how big or how little.

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