Luke
Because I am an atheist, I don’t believe in a supernatural power (other than science) controlling our destinies. However, having said that, there are certainly some strange coincidences in life that probably fall under the category of serendipity rather than fate. Such is the story of Luke, our rescue dog, who might more aptly have been named, Lucky.
Our family had just gone through the agonizing ordeal of losing one of our dogs to cancer. Glenn, a pure bred, red Poodle, was not a rescue dog. He was chosen by my six year old daughter at a mall pet shop and was undoubtedly born in a puppy mill of some sort, but we welcomed him to the family and he was an integral member of the Stepp-Bolling clan until he contacted brain cancer. We lost him a few weeks after Christmas in 2005. Such is the heartache of being a lover of animals. The day after Glenn died, we hiked into the San Gabriel Mountains that loomed up behind our house hoping to ease some of the pain and sadness we carried with us. We took our remaining dogs, Willow and Oakley and headed into the foothills on an early January morning. We had nothing but time and bittersweet memories to keep us company as we wandered through the awakening thistle and wild mustard adorning our hillsides. Just before it became a true road, the return path down from the hills took us through a fire gate near a boy’s camp. As we ducked under the big yellow gate, we heard a small yip from something in the underbrush. Coyotes are common in the area, so my first inclination was that a small coyote pup had been left on its own. After two more yips, we found a small white terrier cowering in the bushes. He was not afraid of us as much as he was afraid of being left alone. He couldn’t have been more than six months old and was probably someone’s Christmas gift. Covered in fleas and ticks, we wrapped him up and took him home.
After contacting the Humane Society, we discovered no one had called about a missing white dog. We diligently posted pictures of the dog around the neighborhood and city hoping someone would respond saying how grateful they were we found their missing dog. In reality, we suspected the puppy had been dumped in the foothills because it was simply an easier way to deal with an unwanted animal. Coyotes would take care of the evidence. No one bothered to call or contact us. Apparently, the life of this new found terrier was now in our hands.
After de-fleaing and de-ticking, the puppy was only too happy to make himself at home on our couch. Although not altogether pleased to share their household with a new dog, Willow and Oakley soon grudgingly accepted the newcomer as family. My daughter christened the puppy with his new name, Luke, after one of the characters on the television show, The Gilmore Girls, because of his unruly hair. For my wife and I, it was as though the spirit of Glenn had been reborn into this feisty white terrier who refused to die.
Our family had just gone through the agonizing ordeal of losing one of our dogs to cancer. Glenn, a pure bred, red Poodle, was not a rescue dog. He was chosen by my six year old daughter at a mall pet shop and was undoubtedly born in a puppy mill of some sort, but we welcomed him to the family and he was an integral member of the Stepp-Bolling clan until he contacted brain cancer. We lost him a few weeks after Christmas in 2005. Such is the heartache of being a lover of animals. The day after Glenn died, we hiked into the San Gabriel Mountains that loomed up behind our house hoping to ease some of the pain and sadness we carried with us. We took our remaining dogs, Willow and Oakley and headed into the foothills on an early January morning. We had nothing but time and bittersweet memories to keep us company as we wandered through the awakening thistle and wild mustard adorning our hillsides. Just before it became a true road, the return path down from the hills took us through a fire gate near a boy’s camp. As we ducked under the big yellow gate, we heard a small yip from something in the underbrush. Coyotes are common in the area, so my first inclination was that a small coyote pup had been left on its own. After two more yips, we found a small white terrier cowering in the bushes. He was not afraid of us as much as he was afraid of being left alone. He couldn’t have been more than six months old and was probably someone’s Christmas gift. Covered in fleas and ticks, we wrapped him up and took him home.
After contacting the Humane Society, we discovered no one had called about a missing white dog. We diligently posted pictures of the dog around the neighborhood and city hoping someone would respond saying how grateful they were we found their missing dog. In reality, we suspected the puppy had been dumped in the foothills because it was simply an easier way to deal with an unwanted animal. Coyotes would take care of the evidence. No one bothered to call or contact us. Apparently, the life of this new found terrier was now in our hands.
After de-fleaing and de-ticking, the puppy was only too happy to make himself at home on our couch. Although not altogether pleased to share their household with a new dog, Willow and Oakley soon grudgingly accepted the newcomer as family. My daughter christened the puppy with his new name, Luke, after one of the characters on the television show, The Gilmore Girls, because of his unruly hair. For my wife and I, it was as though the spirit of Glenn had been reborn into this feisty white terrier who refused to die.
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