Janie
When I was young, I guess about eight years old, our family became owners of a little dog named Janie; an Australian Terrier who
immediately considered herself to be one of the kids and played with us accordingly – in our yard, out in the street, in friends’ yards, wherever kids were playing, she was there. But she had no road sense and one unhappy summer weekend a car skittled her and turned that Sunday into a black day indeed.
I was not out in the street to see and hear the awful accident, but was in the back yard when my father carried in the little
lifeless body, laid her gently on the grass and put up an umbrella to shield her body from the baking sun.
Devastated, I did not move as I watched the sad spectacle.
I was not far away from where the little body lay and once it was only me and the dog there I began to plead with God to perform a
miracle. Perched on the concrete back veranda, I drew on the blackboard nailed to the outside wall and every minute or so, turned to see if Janie had moved. I was not concentrating on drawing. I was merely making marks on the board as I earnestly said prayers, pleading again and again to God to make what had happened not true; to make our little dog bunce up once more and run around in the joyful circles for which she was so well known.
But it was not to be and we went to bed that night with heavy hearts and woke the next day to find the umbrella gone, the backyard looking all too normal and not even a mark to show where the little dog had been.
immediately considered herself to be one of the kids and played with us accordingly – in our yard, out in the street, in friends’ yards, wherever kids were playing, she was there. But she had no road sense and one unhappy summer weekend a car skittled her and turned that Sunday into a black day indeed.
I was not out in the street to see and hear the awful accident, but was in the back yard when my father carried in the little
lifeless body, laid her gently on the grass and put up an umbrella to shield her body from the baking sun.
Devastated, I did not move as I watched the sad spectacle.
I was not far away from where the little body lay and once it was only me and the dog there I began to plead with God to perform a
miracle. Perched on the concrete back veranda, I drew on the blackboard nailed to the outside wall and every minute or so, turned to see if Janie had moved. I was not concentrating on drawing. I was merely making marks on the board as I earnestly said prayers, pleading again and again to God to make what had happened not true; to make our little dog bunce up once more and run around in the joyful circles for which she was so well known.
But it was not to be and we went to bed that night with heavy hearts and woke the next day to find the umbrella gone, the backyard looking all too normal and not even a mark to show where the little dog had been.
