Sunday, June 30, 2013

Six Stories: Number Four

How I Met Jesus
When I was a little girl, Mama was very intentional with every word she spoke about Jesus. She wanted her three daughters to accept Him as young as we could say His name. And so, I was just very wee when I told God's Son I loved what He had done for me on the cross and was excited to see Him in Heaven one day. Of course, at that time, I was learning to love Him, but had no idea what I would face in years to come.
One thing Mama always taught us was that God was good and the bad things in life were not from Him. God loves us so much that He hurts when we hurt and so, He actually carries us through hard circumstances. I can absolutely attest to that fact, my children. I've told you some of the difficult things I encountered in my life. Some were things most people experience from time to time and others were such deep wounds that I thought I might never recover. However, it's when I felt all hope was lost that I cried out to Jesus. I remember times when I could almost feel His arms wrapped around me.
I often took Jesus' amazing love for granted and although I didn't get into trouble with the Law or do outwardly rebellious things, I had a proud heart. It was the little things that I know broke the perfect, righteous heart of God. I harboured anger and bitterness inside. I struggled with judging other and gossiping through prayer requests--oh, it was very subtle because I was careful to still act like a Christian. It wasn't until I was grown up that I came face to face with my sin. I was doing the kinds of things that no one sees but God. I learned a very hard lesson and was forced to turn from my sin or I would continue being a "fake" for the rest of my life, I'm sure. I thought I loved Jesus but it was at this point that I realized following Him meant actually living the way He wanted me to. I was finally prepared to truly do that. This is why I always tell you, my precious kiddos, that it's so important to stay receptive to the Holy Spirit's voice.

As Daddy and I raise the four of you, I pray that we would diligently teach you God's Word and introduce you to His Son in such a way that you would desire to know Him more. As you have all received Him into your lives already, I know that His Holy Spirit will guide you and speak to you all about an awesome plan for your life. I pray you'll remain sensitive to the conviction of sin, confess easily, turn from it and live wholeheartedly for Jesus. Life is not easy, but without Jesus, I don't know how true healing and help arrives. More than that, the love He shares with us will blow you away!
Tomorrow I will share the story of how Daddy and I met. 

Saturday, June 29, 2013

Six Stories: Number Three

A Story Of Your Strength
Meghan, this story about you is quite recent and it happened at one of your ballet competitions. Being an elegant and skilled dancer, I had no concern about how you were going to perform this particular day in Niagara Falls and you had no evidence of nervousness. You took the stage and began to sweep your arms into place as the music commenced. Within about five minutes, the audience clapped and your siblings and I rose from our seats to go and retrieve you from the dressing rooms. On the way, I bumped into your teacher who exclaimed, "She forgot!"
"Forgot what?" I asked.
"The second half of her dance! She just made it all up!" and off she hustled.
I moved on in the opposite direction, pushing through the crowd and finally found you. You rushed toward me gushing that you had forgotten everything. You said you totally blanked but kept dancing and literally created your own dance. I squeezed you hard. I hadn't even noticed! I was so proud that you didn't stop or run off the stage, and you didn't cry. I told you I was prouder of you in that moment than of all your winning competitions put together. You were concerned about receiving a low score but I assured you it didn't matter. You just laughed at yourself and said, "Oh well, whatever!" Later, your teacher encouraged you not to worry, as well.
When the adjudicator took his place on the stage, you were called up to receive your award. You won one of the highest marks, as well as, a judge's special award called, "Perfect Poise".
God truly blessed you that day. You were thankful for His gift to you and I was thankful for the strength you demonstrated in realizing what was truly important.
Molly, this story took place a couple of years ago when we were camping. You often ride your bike round and round the circular road near our campsite and this time, you met a little girl around your age, named Laurel. For several days, you and Laurel did everything together. You played dolls, hunted for snails, and ate popsicles. I remember you sitting on a blanket near our trailer and talking together. You came to me later and shared what the two of you had been talking about.
"Mommy, I asked Laurel if she knew Jesus. She said no, so I told her about Him. I don't think her family are Christians and it makes me sad."
I pulled you onto my lap and told you that was very bold and strong of you to not be afraid to tell her about your faith. Jesus has done so much for our family and we need to share so others can know His love too! I was so proud of you. We prayed for Laurel and the next day her family packed up to head for their next campground. You've never seen her since but you still pray for her once in awhile when you think about it and I'm so grateful for your tender heart.
Emily, when you were a little girl, you told me you wished you were a black person. You are very attracted to black friends and I've always believed God has something special in store for you because you have such a strong desire to go to Africa. Now, that doesn't mean all your friends are in need or come from there, in fact, some are wealthy Canadians! But for some reason, even though you know that, it's all intertwined in your mind. You even dream about it. Once, you told me you saw a big blanket in a dream and it was filled with food. You took it and handed it out to many people. You have a philanthropist's heart, which is nurtured by the Holy Spirit as you pray about your future. Your strength amazes me as you recount how you know you're going to have a restaurant or help people with food somehow. As I listen to my little girl, I am excited for the adventures you'll enjoy with God, but I'm also praying for protection and guidance for you. You're going to do great things! You already are.
Oliver, you love your Sunday School class but you've struggled with a couple of boys being unkind to you. It hasn't been a big deal but it sometimes caused you to want to make sure your friends were there before you entered the room. We prayed about it and devised a couple ideas on how to approach a bully. They seemed to work, sometimes, but the best part was that God blessed you with a particular friend you really like to play with.
One day, you climbed into the truck after church and told me all about a new boy.
"Mommy, there was a new boy today and he didn't have any friends. I went right up to him and asked him if he wanted to play with me. He was happy."
Oliver, that melted my heart. What a strong and sensitive boy you are! That's exactly the kind of character Jesus is pleased with. I'm so thankful you're learning to be caring toward others by using your experiences already. I'm looking forward to watching you mature in the Lord and take a stand for Him and others.
Tomorrow I will share how I met Jesus.

Friday, June 28, 2013

Six Stories: Number Two

How You Received Your Name
Meghan Grace Since we thought you were a boy for the whole pregnancy, we called you Joshua (poor girl). I'm sorry about that :) However, we did also think of names for girls... just in case. After you were born, we named you Meghan simply because we liked it. We didn't know many Meghans and with me being a teacher, I wanted a name that had not been one of my students. Your middle name, Grace, belonged to your Grandma Taffs. She truly was a graceful and gentle lady. You met her as a babe just before she passed away. Your nick-names are Meggers, Meg, Megs, Meggie, and Mouse.

Molly Joanna Oh how I fell in love with the name Molly during my pregnancy with you! Daddy wasn't too sure at first but I kept rolling it off my tongue to him and he grew to love it too :) I think you really suit your name. We say you're a lot like Auntie Holly, which makes sense! We nick-named you Molly-pop and since then, you've been Mollers, Magoo, Magoosta, Molly-Mocket, Mo-Jo, and Mollsies. Joanna is Grandma Vanderkruk's middle name, except spelled Johanna and pronounced, Yohonna. I wish we had gone with that lovely spelling from the beginning but it's still sweet, nonetheless.
Emily Katherine I loved the name Emily since I was young. I reserved until you were born because there were so many Emilys in the world that I wasn't sure I wanted to use it. Daddy and I actually named you Isabella in the hospital but on the afternoon of your second day, I told Daddy you really were an Emily to me. It is a timeless name, no matter how popular, and I love how it sounds. Your middle name belongs to Auntie Kathy, who is very special to our family. Your nick-names are Emmers, Emmy-Lou, Emmerson, Baby Girl and Emmy.

Oliver William Another name that made me smile. Whenever we told people your name, they paused for a moment, let it sink in and then they exclaimed how much they loved it. It just seemed so strong but gentle to me at the same time. And that's exactly like your character! William is Daddy's middle name. He was named after his Opa, who passed away shortly after we were married. Being named after Daddy makes you very privileged :) Your nick-names are Willy, Buddy, Sport, Son, and Bubby. (Daddy won't allow anyone to call you Ollie :)
Tomorrow I will share Story Number Three: one that reflects each of your strengths.

Thursday, June 27, 2013

Six Stories: Number One

I came across an article today that inspired me to tell my children, once again, the special things about them and their lives. Adhering to the six story ideas, I began to wonder if each of my kiddos could recount the ways they are unique and why and how our family began. So, Meghan, Molly, Emily and Oliver, here are six stories for you!
Your Birth Story
Meghan, my firstborn, you were planned a year before I became pregnant with you. I was teaching Kindergarten and I contracted Shingles, which put your conception on hold. Finally, your tiny body began to grow in me and I was so excited.. and so sick. I had nearly every single negative symptom of pregnancy you could feel, I even thought I had miscarried you at one point. However, I was still able to work through it and took my maternity leave in February. After a difficult twelve and a half hour labour, without anything for pain,  you were born six days past your due date. Daddy and I thought you were a boy the entire pregnancy. What a surprise we had when the midwives asked Daddy to check for himself what gender you were! Wow! I was thrilled beyond description! You were 8lbs. 9oz. As our first, you taught us how to be parents :)
Molly, after a very sad miscarriage (partial molar pregnancy), I was more than eager to have you in our family! I suffered horrible morning sickness--all day--and night, but with one lovely girl already as a result, I was blissfully thankful. It was obvious you loved music and seemed to be dancing inside of me when I'd attend a concert or play loud music. You kept me awake and timing contractions for two weeks before your due date and I became so exhausted, the doctor suggested an induction two days later. I was so grateful! Finally, I would see my baby girl (whom I knew was a girl from the ultrasound ;) that very day! This time when an epidural was offered, I quickly replied in the affirmative! However, it wore off as soon as it was time to push you into the world. Yikes! All the pain disappeared when you were placed on my chest and I marveled at your beauty. You were 8lbs. 1oz.
Emily, you were a wee bit of a surprise to us :) Nevertheless, I was elated at the thought of another baby. I secretly hoped you were a girl too, and when the ultrasound revealed you were, I began to excitedly plan for your arrival. Again, I was nauseous for the first few months but besides sciatica, I was in general good health. Toward the end of my pregnancy with you, I was measuring seven weeks more than my due date! Were you going to be a huge baby? The doctor was concerned and induced me ten days early. The epidural worked well and I thoroughly enjoyed your delivery. You were 8lbs. 5oz. Not so big after all! You had a gorgeous, full head of black hair and dark skin. So different from my two blondies! I was in love immediately.
Oliver, you were also a surprise. Although we didn't plan to become pregnant, we quickly enjoyed the thought of having four children, What an amazing gift from God! Now, with three little girls, it was interesting to imagine the possibility of a boy. I say interesting because I really didn't know what I'd do with a boy (besides babysitting and teaching them)! I had two sisters and now three daughters. When the ultrasound revealed you were going to be just like Daddy, we showed everyone the pictures from the technician. What fun it was to be able to buy little boy things this time. Daddy and I went to a hotel with another couple to celebrate New Year's Eve. I didn't realize that I was beginning labour until the next day when my contractions continued and intensified. You were not induced until January 3rd! By now I was realizing my body doesn't always complete labour on its own. You came into the world at 7lbs. 13oz. and your sisters felt like you were their baby :)
Tomorrow I will tell Story Number Two and share how you received your names.

Tuesday, June 25, 2013


As my "chicks" poured from my vehicle and ran toward the lake I stopped short and gazed upon this lovely sight. Another mother and her babies strolling toward the water. With God's summer goodness at the end of my lens, I smiled at the parallels He's designed in creation. He never fails to amaze me.. every time we take time to enjoy His handiwork.

Thursday, June 20, 2013

Nearing The End Of The Journey

The epidural finally kicked in and she rolled to her left side and clutched her stuffed, green elephant. From the hospital rocking chair, I sighed deeply. We'd been awake together for many painful hours already and I knew we were still in for a long haul. But the smell of disinfectant, the sounds of nurses bustling in the hallway, the rhythmic swishing of baby's heartbeat on the monitor all pointed to one realization: this journey was nearly complete.

I pulled the warm blanket Sarah, the midwife, had placed over me, up a little higher. I pressed my head into the back of the recliner in an attempt to sleep. My mind flooded with memories of  this brave girl and all she had brought to our lives. Julie had called me nine months earlier after receiving my number from a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend who knew I'd help. She had just found out she was pregnant and was living far from home at a university in my area. Her parents had told her she must think of what's best for the family as a whole and abort the child or they'd cut off her school funding, as well as, her connection to them. I asked her if she wanted to meet with me and that was the beginning of our relationship.

The laboring woman in the next room yelled out in pain and my eyes flew open. It didn't last long and I readjusted myself in the chair. I remembered those early weeks when Julie struggled with extreme nausea, intense feelings of rejection, confusion over the decision she'd made to keep her baby and depression. She allowed me to share her story with the praying women of my Bible Study. They gave of their hearts, their prayers and their money for Julie and the other three girls at the maternity home I had moved her into. There, food, shelter and prenatal care was available. The women who ran the home truly loved the girls with their lives. But Julie was most at peace when she slept over at our place for a few days at a time. She ached to be with family and, as angry as she was with her own, she often spoke lovingly of her parents and how she desperately desired their approval of her choice.

Soon after the official amount of weeks for a legal abortion in Canada had passed, Julie's parents began the slow process of reconciliation with her. She chose adoption and told her parents she would not be keeping her baby, much to their relief. Although they were reconnecting, the pain of their daughter's choice to give her child life, still stung their hearts as they shared with her that knowing their flesh and blood would be growing up "somewhere out there" was a forever burden they would have to endure. But the decision was settled that they would have no part of this baby's life as they believed Julie would ultimately leave the child-rearing up to them. They were not prepared to live that stage all over again.

A door slammed in the hallway and I was jarred from my thoughts. Would I be able to get any sleep? At least Julie was motionless. She needed all the rest she could get for the monumental task she was about to endure. The monitor swished and the numbers flashed between 135 and 150. The baby's heartbeat soothed me as I pondered how this tiny life was going to look and how she would grow up. I allowed myself a moment to imagine she was going to be mine but I knew in my spirit she didn't belong to our family. For a few months though, she was almost ours. Julie had asked if we would adopt the baby. I drove her to midwife appointments and ultrasounds, quietly savouring the joy and beauty of viewing her precious life on the screen, finding out her gender and wondering if she'd be our new youngest. But it wasn't meant to be. My husband and I had fasted and prayed, waited on the Lord for an answer, and that day in the adoption agency we both knew she wasn't ours.

I was not feeling well the day my friend, Annie had taken Julie to her appointment to choose a couple with her wonderful adoption counselor. It was disappointing that I couldn't go but they texted me through the whole process and finally chose a Christian couple whose lifestyle appealed to Julie. Their profile photos of a home with two dogs and vacations and close extended family excited her. I smiled. It was for Julie that I sat in this chair but it was also for them. I knew I was acting as the surrogate momma for this little unborn girl, whom they couldn't yet touch and love. Just then, I remembered to keep the adoptive couple up on the news of the labour and so I reached for my phone. I shared with them that the epidural had allowed Julie to sleep and I'd let them know when the next dilation check took place. The anxiousness in the reply made me laugh out loud.

May had taken on new meaning this year as Julie made me aware that Birth Mother's Day was on the  second Saturday. She asked if we could do something special with the adoptive mom and that led to the Mother's Day Tea I prepared for the two of them. The relationship between these new mothers-to-be flowed easily and it was obvious Julie had made the right choice for her daughter. It was to be an "Open Adoption" and the wide arms of the couple that spread toward Julie blew me away. I loved them immediately and we shared visits in their home so Julie could feel comforted about what her child's nursery looked like. Much care had been taken for every little detail of the room, right down to a frame awaiting a photo of birth-mom. My children romped with their two English Setter dogs and Julie was thankful to be able to envision her little girl growing up at their place.
The woman in the next room yelled again, Julie shifted in the bed, opened her eyes and closed them again. Peace flooded the hospital room like a warm blanket and I was certain that peace had finally settled in her heart at the time she had made her decision about the adoption. She consistently told me her daughter was "God's child" and He would find her the family she deserved. With this couple's love for her and for the baby on the horizon, He indeed had begun a good work that He'd be faithful to complete. The learning process was, at times, a roller coaster ride--we, as a family, had witnessed it all as Julie moved in with us a few weeks before this day. But with the end of the pregnancy in sight, I prayed for the character growth to be embraced--by both of us. I praised the Giver of Life for this experience that was creating something new in me too. I finally faded off to sleep.
Not long after, Sarah came in to check on Julie. It was time to push. Julie was surprised! Her body had moved itself to readiness while she slept. After all that difficulty breathing through contractions and crying out in pain while we attempted to watch a movie the night before, we now laughed together. It was show time, we joked. The midwives, who had become our friends, hurried about in preparation for the big moment. Annie, who stopped by to bring us something to eat, was assigned to hold a leg for support. She happily obliged. Julie had decided earlier that she did not desire to have the baby placed on her after birth and so the privilege was granted to me. She also appealed to all present in the room to contain their emotions so that the event could be as simple and as easy as possible. I did my utmost to hide the surging feelings that were already overtaking me. I was like a boiling pot just about to bubble over--trying to keep a lid on the rush of sentiment I had concerning the profound beauty of a little human entering the world. How could I experience it four times myself and not express my heart? I tucked my arm under Julie's shoulders as the midwife requested, and I resigned myself to display no emotion--for Julie's sake.
That young woman, sacrificing her body, pushed the baby for an hour. The epidural began to wear off and the reality of all those months of hardship, laughter, rejection, confusion, and gratitude welled up into a big gush of crying out in desperation one last time. Julie wailed, "Why? Why? I can't do this! Take her out now. Get the forceps! No more!" She slapped her legs in exhaustion. I held her tightly and pushed up on her back when commanded to do so and turned my head to hide my tears. I locked eyes with Annie, who was brimming too. Julie relaxed in my arms for a moment. I glanced at Sarah, whose sympathetic, furrowed brow caused my emotions to flow freely. I shook my head. So much pain and struggle to bring a life into the world for someone else. It seemed so wrong and yet so perfectly wonderful at the same time. Then, with one final lurch forward, at 7:59 p.m. a nine and a half pound baby girl emerged into the room.
Julie collapsed back onto the pillow with a heavy sigh. Sarah rubbed the baby on the bed with some linens and she began to cry. I carefully scooped up the warm, wet, little body, still attached to her life-giving umbilical cord. Sarah handed me the scissors and I cut the flow from the one who had given nine months of her life for the life of one who would not be hers. Balancing her in my arms, I swaddled the hospital wrap around the wriggling, snuffling child and lowered myself into the rocking chair. "She's perfect, Julie," I whispered, "She has your nose."
Julie smiled and leaned my direction. "I know," she replied weakly, "it's the first thing I noticed."
I rocked back and forth and stroked the precious, dark-skinned cheek of the one I'd prayed over for so long. The one who's ultrasound photo I touched as I passed my fridge each day. Then, the song began to well up inside of me and I quietly sang to her, "Jesus loves me, this I know..." Oh, how I desired for her to know how much she was loved and wanted!

The midwives worked hard to stop Julie's heavy bleeding while she lay on the bed beaming with pride. Annie, being a nurse, hung out close to the new mom, trying to help her get comfortable. Julie asked me to call the baby's new parents and let them know they could come and see her. My eyes widened. "Are you sure you're feeling up to it?" I knew the adoption agency had told them it was likely they'd get to arrive the day after the birth.
She grinned, "I want to show her off! I want them to meet her."
I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and proceeded to tell a very anxious woman on the other end of the phone that I was holding her baby girl in my arms and that she and her husband were given permission to come that very night. Her words gushed with elation. Could she bring anything for Julie? "Anything at all?" she asked. A big, blue freezie was all the patient wanted. The adoptive mom laughed. She was sure they could handle that.
They arrived with a camera, tiny, newborn clothes for their daughter and yes, a big, blue freezie. "Baby" became part of a family that night and was named, Alexandria Julie Danielle. Mom and Dad fed a bottle to their little girl, who would soon be too big for the soft, cozy sleeper they'd brought. Birth-mom, with a burst of adrenalin, chattered about the experience but soon began to tire. A kiss to Alexandria and a hug goodbye for the night to all in the room, and the new parents went home. An exhausted girl gazed up at me from her bed and remarked, "This all feels really good. It's meant to be. I just gave birth to their daughter." I squeezed her hand with mine, while my other held Alexandria. It had been a bitter-sweet journey together and the full plan of God was unfolding as an elegant rose, just like this little girl.
Since that day, we shared in an Entrustment Ceremony that was overwhelmingly lovely and unforgettable. It was for the adoptive parents and the birth-mom to promise to do their best to keep communication open for the sake of Alexandria and to raise her in a Christ-centred home. There were letters read to Julie and one to the parents by her, as well as, to the baby. There was not a dry eye in the tiny hospital room as we gathered around her bed before walking away and leaving the baby in the couple's arms.

At present, Julie is at home with her parents, rebuilding a relationship with them. She is looking forward to the end of the 29 day wait when she can officially congratulate the couple that she has not changed her mind! She's excited for them and also for the prospect of a bright future for herself (as well as, visiting her daughter when she is able).

Thank you to Lois, her pregnancy counselor, who gave me personal support, to Nancy and Lisa from the maternity home, to her amazing midwives, to my girlfriends who bought clothing and other special gifts, to Annie, who gave us both a break, to Bonnie and Kerry from Beginnings Adoption Agency, to Yvonne for the prayer blankets, to the adoptive parents, who've been fabulous, to Michele for bringing us together in the first place, and to all who prayed her through this journey. God bless you.

Sunday, June 16, 2013

The Adventures Of Finnegan

I looked up from tossing the spinach salad and watched as my boy was engaged in some tossing of his own. Finnegan, his beloved, stuffed puppy from babyhood, was being catapulted higher and higher from the deck and finally landed on the roof. Oliver shot a surprised but satisfied glance toward the kitchen and I called out, "Daddy's going to have to get him now. There's no way you're going up there. You know that, right?" I sensed my boy's tossing game carried the intention of perching rooftop with Daddy again. A few weeks earlier, my husband taught our son how to clean the rain gutters and the two of them ascended the fairly flat roof of our home--an exciting and daring feat indeed for a small boy. Nevertheless, it seemed to me, the Spring rush of our family business might just delay the rescue.
At dinner, Oliver announced that Finnegan had taken a trip to the roof and would Daddy please retrieve him? My husband put his plate in the sink and turned and held his son's head in his hands. He began, "Buddy, I have to go back to work, but remind me tomorrow again and I'll get him for you."
It stormed that night.
The trauma that ensued was predictable and that little fellow threw his skinny arms around my waist and wept as his sisters recounted the lightening, thunder and torrential rains.
 "Finnegan is dying!", he cried, "We have to get him now!"
Somehow, in the next minutes, we became distracted with a visitor at the door and then into the truck for a few errands, and that puppy remained on the roof for another two days. Each time Oliver reminded his daddy about his rooftop friend, we were heading out the door again. Nights were difficult as Oliver climbed under the covers and had no one to snuggle. It was clear this young lad, who had recently teetered on the edge of disbelieving his puppy was real, was convinced his furry friend was feeling every moment of pain on the top of our home. As I kissed my boy's forehead and wiped his tears, I began to feel like we were failing as parents and vowed that tomorrow, indeed, Finnegan would be rescued.
After four days, the sopping-wet, brown puppy was lowered by my husband into desperate, waiting arms. Oliver squeezed that filthy dog and closed his eyes. He whispered, "Finnegan, you're back." I told him Finnegan needed to be cleaned up in order to spend the night in his bed. "Yes," he agreed, and we entered the house. What Oliver didn't realize was that I meant he needed to be thrown into the washing machine.
I pushed a load of light clothing into the machine and added Finnegan and some detergent. Then I went to check the bathroom hamper for a bit more to fill the load. When I returned, my boy had removed his puppy and was crying again.
"He can't go in there! He'll drown!" 
I knelt down to his level and explained how he'll just do the doggie-paddle, "It's like a ride at the fair for him." He refused to believe it and clung tighter to his beloved. Finally, I managed to pull the stuffed friend from my son and remind him that Finnegan would not be entering his bed sheets with filthy, wet fur. He relented. 
Ten minutes later, I walked into the laundry room to find Oliver kneeling with hands on the glass door of my front-loader, sniffling. His sisters were sympathetically perched behind him as he traced that puppy, sloshing round and round, with his finger, and cried, "There he is... there he is..." The girls came running when the machine changed to the spin cycle. Their brother was a wreck. The drying process was another traumatic event. Oliver begged for no more spinning.  I convinced him that he'd get to hold Finnegan quicker if we didn't hang him out to dry but let him get fluffed up in the dryer... for just a few minutes. Molly was able to empathize because she had experienced the same difficulty over releasing her favourite blankie to be washed. She comforted her brother by placing her own stuffed piglet into the dryer as company for Finnegan. It worked. Oliver felt better, Finnegan felt better and I was grateful for a thoughtful big sister when I had run out of wisdom.
I slipped out for some groceries that afternoon, and when I returned, my son had his puppy under his arm. I asked him if Finnegan was feeling okay. Those big hazel eyes glared up at me and he pouted, "NO, he's DIZZY!"
The next two weeks were less eventful but that little dog joined us for all occasions. The backpack zipper was zipped just enough to allow Finnegan's head to peek out and breathe, the truck seat beside Oliver held the small pet, he strolled through grocery store aisles and friend's homes. It was apparent, Oliver was keeping a good eye on his friend, who normally only hung out in his bed. The rescue and adventures of Finnegan will never be forgotten in our family and perhaps one day, he'll be passed on to my son's child and he/she will be told about the love between a boy and his dog.