Yesterday I was driving through the mountains of Central Oregon—with a sick wife and incessantly trilling dog. My dog doesn’t whine, she trills. Finally, exasperatedly, I turned off the highway where there was a bridge crossing a creek, drove up an old, deserted road, pulled up, and found a trail leading into the woods. I let Lucy (the triller) out of the car, and she ran down the trail with me in hot pursuit.
Lucy and I entered into a very magical and lovely deeply wooded area and found a beautiful river in which Lucy swam. The feeling at this place was amazing; there was a profound, seemingly holy presence in these woods. After some time of ecstasy and communion, we returned to the car, where Pam was fast asleep. Lucy and I were glowing.
We got back in the car and went on our way, with Lucy happily going to sleep after one last trill, which said in doggie speak, “I told you so.” I’m convinced that what Lucy was trying to say originally was, “Stop, dad. God has something for us.” And so it was.
So, two lessons here: