When my wife and I married, she had a dog who struggled
getting used to me, and it actually had a stress based illness due to my arrival
into the household. So yeah, the dog
didn’t like me much. One snowy day we took a trip to see my wife’s family, a
journey of about 100 miles. We didn’t have any kids yet, and the dog liked to
travel, so she came along. We stopped for gas in the small town of Monroeville.
While I was filling up the gas tank, a truck pulled up on the other side of the
pump island. A large, friendly man got
out, saw our dog in our car, looked at me rather seriously and said, “Cute
animal. You know son, there are two types of dogs in this world: those who
think they’re dogs, and those who think they’re human. Your dog thinks she’s
human.” I nodded to him, and ran inside to pay for the gas. When I came out
(expecting to continue our conversation), the man was gone. There was no truck, no tire tracks in the
snow, no sign that he had ever been there. I got back into the car and we continued our journey.
Well, beginning that day, the dog and I forged a friendship
that would last the remainder of her days.
She stayed by my side, and I by hers. On future trips through Monroeville, our family would stop at that gas
station, hoping for a visit from the man in the truck. He may well have known we were there, but he
never visited us again. He knew his work with us had been accomplished.
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