Blind Hope: An Unwanted Dog & the Woman She Rescued (6 page)

I tested the name. “Mia. It’s beautiful. I think it fits her well. Good job.”

Laurie laughed a bit. “Even though Mia is nothing like what I had hoped for, she has stolen my heart. After spending time with her, all my selfish expectations seemed so small, so ridiculous. I’m ashamed I ever felt that way. Mia was homely, she was skinny, and she was stinky. But she was also kind, quiet, and gentle.”

Laurie appeared to be talking more to herself than to me now. “She’s becoming a true friend and a little dog that I’m growing to care for very much.

“And, get this—she has reminded me that love is not a feeling but a choice.”

I
n an effort to accustom her dog to the sound of her new name, Laurie used it often—very often.

“Mia-Mia-Mia!” she’d call.

The instant her dog would turn toward her, Laurie would deluge her with praise.

“Good girl, Mia!” She reached to stroke the top of Mia’s head. “Good dog, Mia.”

By making the whole process a game, Laurie hoped to create a fun time of bonding. Laurie added entertaining spontaneity to the renaming process by singing “Mia songs.”

Famous on the ranch for her ad-lib singing, Laurie is one of the true few who can make any person, place, or event into a song. Her original dog songs comprised whatever was playing
on the radio, with Mia’s name and acclaim skillfully woven in to the lyrics. At the time, because little else was known about Mia, most of Laurie’s off-the-cuff lyrics featured the themes of her sweet dog’s smile or bad breath.

Every song ended the same, with Laurie dissolving into hilarious laughter.

With the car windows down and Mia’s tongue flapping in the breeze, Laurie and her dog made quite the singing sensation wherever they went. The amused expressions of the drivers around her only increased Laurie’s joy. She would belt out a song and then turn to the dog sitting next to her as if she expected Mia to bark out the next verse. Then she would crack up at her own silliness. For Laurie, motoring down the road while singing a catchy tune to her new dog was such playful fun.

Mia took it all in stride. Sometimes, though, she would drop her head and gaze up at her new master with huge, forlorn eyes. Laurie concluded it was her dog’s way of saying, “Hey! My breath might be bad, but your singing is terrible!”

Laurie decided to test the many days of name training by exploring one of the numerous lovely parks in Bend. Once there, Laurie leashed her dog and
headed toward the Deschutes River. She paused to stare at the deep blue Oregon sky, a cobalt pool of peace. It invited her to inhale a chestful of pure, abundant hope.

In an explosion of gold, rabbitbrush bloomed across the High Desert. The endless carpet of plush yellow flowers offered a soft landing for a multitude of butterflies. Laurie drank in the sheer wonder of the season, grateful for the refreshment it poured into her thirsty soul as she walked Mia along the banks of the river. In that peaceful moment, she leaned down to free Mia from her leash and let her take pleasure in simply being a dog.

When Mia realized that her master was going to release her, she wagged her entire body with the promising thrill of investigating this new world. Her pinballing course led her to every tree, bush, and clump of grass. Each one called out in competition for her inspection. Laurie smiled as her Aussie girl wound her way through the layered grasses along the river’s edge. With the slinky grace of a working-class cattle dog, Mia moved in perfect harmony within the placid environment.

Laurie watched her dog. Mia was still scraggly, skinny, and smelly—still very much the same—but Laurie was not. Her heart was changing. She was beginning to love this unlovely dog.

The sun lowered toward the horizon, and purple shadows
lengthened across the grassy park grounds. An unforgettable day was drawing to a close, and it was time for the two of them to head home.

Laurie turned and started walking in the direction of her car. “C’mon, Mia, let’s go!”

To her surprise, Mia didn’t even look up.

“Mia-Mia-Miaaaaa!” Laurie called again as her dog continued on her rambling investigation of all things. “Mia! Come here!”

Finally Mia stopped, and momentary hope replaced Laurie’s frustration. She breathed a sigh of relief when Mia hesitated and turned around to look at her. Laurie locked eyes with her dog. In the voiceless moment that followed, it became clear that Mia was making a choice, weighing what her next action would be.

Shall I listen to you or not? Shall I come to you? Or shall I go my own way?

Even from a distance, Laurie could see the immense battle in her dog’s contemplation. In the stillness, they held each other’s gaze. Then came a subtle change in Mia’s demeanor—subtle but unmistakable. Her head dropped slightly, and her eyes shifted to the side; she had reached her decision. Laurie watched in dismay as her willful dog chose to turn around and trot away.

The next thirty minutes of trying to catch her new dog
were not pretty for Laurie. Mia ran toward the river, and Laurie jogged after her. When Laurie would get within arm’s reach, Mia would dart away. Again and again, Mia evaded Laurie’s attempts to catch her. Finally, Mia’s antics caught the attention of a picnicking family, and several left their meal to help Laurie capture her wayward dog.

Once Mia succumbed to being leashed, the two of them walked toward the car. Laurie fumed.
Why couldn’t you just come to me? Don’t you know that every good thing you have, I’ve given you? Don’t you know that you were starving to death and I stood in the gap for you and kept you from dying under a rusty car?

Laurie was so aggravated by the time she reached her vehicle that she couldn’t hold back her tears. After all the time they had spent together, after all the love Laurie had invested in her, after all her effort to give Mia a new home and a new life, Laurie couldn’t believe that Mia would choose to ignore her. They were in this together. Why would she run away?

Laurie ranted. “Mia, don’t you realize that I saved you? Don’t you know that I was the one who rescued you from the misery you were in? Don’t you know that I love you? Why did you run away from me?”

Recovering from her escapade, Mia sat panting, oblivious to Laurie’s questions.

Laurie slammed the car door, put the key in the ignition, and drove her disobedient dog home.

During the drive back to her house, Laurie glanced across the car to the passenger seat. Mia sat fully at ease, bearing no guilt or frustration. It was obvious she was satisfied to watch the world stream by outside the window. In that moment, Laurie envied her dog. Clearly Mia was content, and Laurie was not. Mia had already moved beyond the park fiasco and was just happy to be with her master.

Laurie pushed her irritation aside and delved into a deeper issue that was cutting into her thoughts. Internal questionings surfaced.

Can I honestly blame Mia for not coming to me? For not really knowing me? For not understanding how much I love her?

Laurie had to acknowledge that she and Mia still had much to learn about each other. Mia didn’t come to Laurie because she didn’t yet know or trust the sound of her voice, nor did she understand the depth of Laurie’s love. The reason became clear: Mia had not yet spent enough time in Laurie’s presence to really know her.

In the silence of the drive home, a new awareness started to materialize in Laurie’s heart. It was as if fragments from a
faraway voice echoed inside, and she strained to make out the words. Laurie pulled into her driveway and turned off the ignition. She sat in the quietness, interrupted only by Mia’s even breathing. Once the fragmented words formed into a message, the truth jolted Laurie’s soul.

I am exactly like Mia
.

Just as her dog had run away from her, she had run away from God. Instead of running to God, she had spent her life running after everything but God. How could she follow a voice she had heard but never taken the time to actually know? How could she expect God to lead her life when she had repeatedly chosen not to follow him? Just like her dog’s relationship with her, Laurie had not yet spent enough time in God’s presence to truly know him either.

Laurie looked into this reflection of truth and clearly saw that she—and only she—was responsible for the distance she felt between herself and God. Her heart became as heavy as it had when her beloved dog ran away. All this time, she had been angry with God because he seemed so far away when she needed him most. She could no longer blame God for all the years of feeling abandoned now that she had just seen a mirror image of what she must look like to him. All along, Laurie was the one who had been running away from him.

“Truth is truth, no matter who delivers it,” I said, rolling up onto my elbow to look at Laurie. “God is such a fox. Isn’t it incredible how he uses the world around us, simple things really, to continually reveal his great love, purpose, and plan for our lives? It’s almost funny that God would use a dog to teach a girl how to listen.”