By Doug De Graffenried

The Gibsland metroplex is a mixed bag for dog lovers. We have all sorts of canine inhabitants. There are bands of dogs that roam the streets looking for an opportunity to dumpster dive. They are not quite feral dogs. They are street wise, and people shy. There are other dogs that roam the streets. These dogs are pets. They have a family and a house, but their owners allow them to run free. I know most of the car-chasing dogs on the drive to and from work each day. I know where to show down and which porch will release a tire chasing bandit.

I know the dogs; other drivers are not aware of some of the canine characters that live near our streets.
Such was the case the other morning. I suspect this designer dog was officially known as a chiweenie. He was a cute white dog and roamed free. He would not necessarily chase cars or tires, but he didn’t look both ways before crossing the road. One day this cute puppy was called to cross the Rainbow bridge.
When she saw the puppy, my bride was devastated. She saw the dog roaming the streets earlier in the day and thought about catching it and taking it home. Since it had a collar, she suspected the dog was one of our unsupervised street roaming pets. I have this thing for stray dogs. The two dogs I spoil both have dumped dog pedigree. They are great dogs. She felt bad that she didn’t bring this free roaming puppy home and thus saved it. She asked me to bury the puppy.

I took care of picking the dog up and moving it to the place of burial. There is a field across the street from my house and that is where I have located a couple of dogs. I do my dog burial before sunrise. I must be quite a sight in the dark, with a headlamp digging a hole. There I was at 4:30 on a Saturday morning taking care of the puppy.

We have a doggy burial tradition where each dog is buried with a toy. I know it is goofy, but it is tradition. I was bugged that I didn’t have a toy for this dog. All the dog toys in our house are in use by our two mutts. They take inventory each night.

I walked back over to the grave with the puppy and said a few words. We ministers say words over dogs we are burying. When I finished saying the words, I gently lowered the dog into the grave. As I was reaching for the shovel, not three feet from the hole I dug, I saw a tennis ball. There is not a tennis court in Gilsland, what was a ball doing in the field?

I know the tennis ball was there the whole time, but why hadn’t I noticed it previously? I thanked God for providing a toy for the puppy and placed the tennis ball in the doggy grave.

Jesus said that God knows when a sparrow falls to the ground. God knows what we need before we do. My question is this, if God can provide a tennis ball for a puppy, why shouldn’t I believe that He provides for all my needs.

Do you worship a God who is big enough to help you with your stuff?