By Tricia Deininger

My precious Chinese Shar-Pei, Tia, is one of those irresistible “wrinkle dogs” who melts my heart at the sight of her. The sweetest of the litter when I found her, I knew she’d be a true love bucket. Unlike the other pups, she wasn’t shy. To my delight, she trailed the breeder’s toddler, licking his hands and feet. Tia was certainly worth the six-hour trip to bring her home.

I’ve always been a fool for animals, once adopting an orphaned cat and her entire litter. So, I am naturally pet friendly, though not particularly God friendly, considering the untimely loss of my only child. I suppose I was angry with God, whoever I thought Him to be.

Such reasoning would be challenged one afternoon when Tia slyly slipped through a door left ajar, sprinting toward a busy boulevard.

I panicked, of course. My stomach churned and my head spun, much like a sucker-punched fighter. Dreading a horrific ending, I raced out in a mad effort to find her.

Chasing her on foot is futile, I’ve learned. After the first unheeded command, it’s useless to try anymore. Petite for the breed, she is a lean, well-muscled mass of rich sable wrinkles, and a two-time award winner for obedience.

But Sister, let me tell you! Off the leash, she’s a headstrong problem child and absolutely schizophrenic if given the chance to run free. Yet, on the leash, Tia is an angelic icon of obedience—gifted, alert and smart. Sadly, she has a dark side–an even greater gift for escape.

This escape marked the first away from home in busy traffic where she’d gained a substantial lead. Immediately abandoning the foot chase, I drove toward a neighborhood of suburban homes near the boulevard and aimlessly turned one corner after another.

Then I spotted her! Yup, there she was hanging with the “wrong kind”— the roaming neighborhood mutts. How could I possibly beat such fun? Expectantly, I resorted to the only thing in my bag of tricks. Since Tia is allergic to every common dog food or treat except mixed fish and potato, I always carry thawed, store-bought French fries as an inducement.

Putting along, I finally pulled over as she caught sight of me. I opened the car door and waved French fries at her coaxing in my sweetest voice. Bounding to within two arm’s length of me, she stopped abruptly as if thinking it over. Obviously deciding the price of freedom to be much higher than a few measly fries, she bolted hard and fast. This time I lost all hope.

In the clinches, I’m easily given to hysterics and wild fears. “She’ll be run over and die. Someone will find her, keep her, but not give her needed medicine. I’ll never see her again! Oh no, I’m going to die!” This went on and on while blinding tears rolled down my cheeks. Frantically posting hand-scrawled signs and aimlessly looking everywhere, I finally stopped. Defeated, I pulled over and sobbed uncontrollably.

The shift in my spiritual values occurred at this—the second-most lowest moment in my life. Endless, utterly futile hours spent scouring neighborhoods only left me distraught, confused and at the end of my human resources. I’m not sure what came over me as the scales of spiritual resistance fell from my eyes. Humbled and broken, I looked to the sky and asked for help.

Suspending my disbelief, I pled with the God of my limited understanding, “Dear God! Please help me! I don’t know what to do anymore. This isn’t working. Please, please don’t let anything happen to my baby. Please tell me what to do next.”

Both dazed and amazed at my earnestness, I stayed behind the wheel feeling lost and useless. There was no burning bush, but something happened. In a still, small voice that I heard in my head, I was told to keep doing what I’d been doing–driving up and down neighborhood streets, stopping residents, grownups and kids, asking if they’ve seen a wrinkle dog. I took this instruction with a grain of cynicism, though more hopeful than ever.

Certainly, Tia was worth the exhaustive search as I followed the guidance, repeating everything as before for quite a while. Randomly, I turned down a street and saw a man standing in his yard.

“Are you going to ask every single person you see?” I asked myself. Intuitively it felt right, so I haphazardly stopped the car.

“I think you’re looking for something wrinkled,” he said, eyeing my stricken face.I must have mumbled something such as, “Oh my God….thank you!” He continued to explain.

“Yeah, she just came up and started playing with my kids. I figured she didn’t look like the kind of dog that should just be wandering around so I tied her up in my back yard. I’ve been trying to reach your home for about two hours.

Today, I no longer believe in happenstance or coincidences. I could have explained Tia’s rescue as an alignment of time or something mysterious. Instead, I know it to be Divine Intervention–an answer to prayer. What a landmark on my spiritual journey!

Nonetheless Tia, the predictable princess that she is, still has that rebellious streak. Through my gate she sneaks, streaking around the block from time to time. Tried and true, I just drive up and down streets asking strangers if they’ve seen a wrinkle dog, holding on to the faith that I’ll find her eventually. I’m delighted to report that I do every time.

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