For several days, I've headed down my road to see this skinny little dog running in the fields around my house.
Scared and searching for someone, anyone.
Spine and ribs all jutting out, but unwilling to be caught, at any rate.
Well, today he ventured close enough to my house for my boys to see him in the distance.
That was all she wrote, as I say.
The pup was as good as captured. My 14 years old and his little brothers trudged through the mountains for hours in pursuit of the elusive and emaciated stray dog that clearly wanted help but was too afraid to come close enough to have any.
After a lot of work, their deep resolve encouraged him to follow them back, and he ended up on the porch of my house. . where he was a had lad.
They call him Kevin.
Kevin is a happy pup tonight on the couch.
The boys are happy. And tired. And in their bloomers.
They saved him all on their own.
Little rescuers. God Bless them.
I haven't failed them by being caught up in helping the lost and wayward horses of the state, after all. I haven't been distracted and gone so much I've failed them.
They have learned what it is to try to help what is helpless. . .
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