Meet Maizy

I am not a dog person. So, several years ago when my children started to hint that they'd really, really, really like to get a dog, it seemed safe to say, "When everybody's potty trained, I'll think about it."

Half of my children were in diapers at the time, and you know how it is. When you're in the middle of something tedious (especially diapers), it seems like you're destined to be there forever. So in my mind, we'd pretty much never get a dog. I was safe. (I obviously didn't carry out the logic far enough to explore the ramifications of my children never being potty trained.)



Fast forward a few years. The youngest was about to turn six. They'd all been wondering for quite some time, "So, um, where's that dog?" I continued to come up with excuses. Finally, they decided to take things into their own hands. They started saving up. I started to get scared. They were potty trained. And serious.

What's a mother to do? She prays. Yes, even about a dog.

I asked the Lord to provide just the right dog for our family. I even took one of those pet-finder quizzes to determine which breed would be ideal for our family. The quiz came up with a corgi as a 100 % match. Wonderful with children, very easy to train, affectionate, etc. Oh -- and the Queen breeds them. Not a bad recommendation.



I had been on Craigslist daily, hoping to find some cute, cheap little doggie that didn't bark, chew, shed, drool, whine, smell, disobey, or do anything else that would make me feel even slightly uncomfortable. Because, you know, I'm not a dog person. I hadn't once seen a corgi come up. I felt safe again. It would take the kids forever to save up $600 to buy a corgi from the local breeder. They only had $65 so far. I could rest easy.



The day before Miss Kate turned six, I decided to hop on Craigslist again. Just in case something turned up. Well my friends, something turned up. A corgi had just been listed. She was only eight months old and needed to be re-homed right away. Because the need was somewhat urgent, the owner was only asking . . . fifty dollars. As if that wasn't enough, she lived only fifteen minutes from our home.

These details seemed far from coincidental. I picked up the phone.



Three hours later, we had a dog. I was in a state of shock. I felt that our home had been invaded by a hairy creature, and I had no idea what on earth to do with it. What if it cried at night? It was terrifying. To top it off, we were headed to the beach the next day for Miss Kate's birthday. But I couldn't ignore answered prayer. It seemed like a rather obvious fit. So Miss Kate turned six, and Miss Maizy strolled alongside her in the sand, loving every minute of it.



You know what? This hairy creature is the sweetest, most affectionate thing ever. Sure, she has her moments. But the kids have done a great job caring for their dog, and she's working her way into my heart, too. It's hard to resist melting when that little left ear flops over just so and the tail wags eagerly, and the little cocked head begs, "Love me?"



Lately, I've even caught myself calling her sweetie and puppers and other terms of endearment used only by deranged dog lovers.

Oh, dear. Maybe I'm turning into a dog person, after all.