Missy--Come Home!

I wanted to share with you a story Ty wrote about Missy. He wrote this for our Sunday School Forum!

The transition to town has been good for everyone except Missy the 6 year old family beagle. All was fine and she enjoyed the new confinements of the large fenced backyard - until - she discovered squirrels. Then there was no keeping her in. Yes, this is the same Missy you read about in January that Barry breathed the breath of life back into after she suffered a horrendous cut while we were gone on vacation. Well, Wednesday night on the way to church she had gotten out and since she had roamed free for the last several years I figured she would be fine until we got back. Uh oh, Dad made a bad call. That was the last time we saw Missy. Wyatt was convinced that she was on an extended rabbit hunting trip but Winston thought otherwise. Wednesday turns to Thursday then Friday and no sign. The boys were going to my parents for the weekend and as they load up in the truck Winston says to me Daddy I'm starting to worry about Missy she's never stayed away this long. Uh…have fun at Meme and Pa’s see you Sunday!I drove the neighborhood, Christy drove back to the old house, I called PAWS, I checked the newspaper but no sign of Missy. Went to go pick up the boys in Mayberry Sunday and my mom says that Winston just hasn’t been himself this weekend, he’s been really quiet but isn’t sick. As soon as we roll into the drive he opens the gate to the yard only to see his lifelong friend has not returned. Then on the way to small group that night he asks the question I can no longer avoid. “Daddy where’s Missy?” Uh…. As I try to fabricate another encouraging story my beautiful bride gives me the “you gotta tell him elbow”. So we broke it to him that Missy probably wasn’t coming back. The BIGGEST alligator tears in the history reptilian tears come streaming down his cheeks and he didn’t say a word. All this while Wyatt is trying to make it better with “Don’t worry Winston she’s just off huntin’ rabbits”, “Why’s Winston crying”, “Don’t worry Winston she's a fighter won’t no bad guys get her, she’ll bite em’” A new Monday morning rolls around and even the first day at school in the new Cub Scout uniform is not cheering him up. This boy is in full blown depression. Christy calls me after dropping him off at school pleading for me to do something. What’s a dad to do, the pooch is gone, she was my friend too! I did drive him in my 73 International Scout to Cherokee, OK in the snow when he was one year old to pick her up. Carried her in the house in the pocket of my coat actually. I’m a little sad myself but what’s a dad to do? Replacement dog! Just so happens I’m talking to a friend on the phone that has a 3 year old house broke dog, good with kids that she’s trying to find a home for. So, I make the arrangements to test drive the “animal”. As my uncle used to say about bird dogs, “don’t call them a dog until they prove it first…right now it’s just an animal.” I hang up the phone as a co-worker flips me the Ada Evening News, that in all its glory including the rubber band floats to my desk like a waterfowl down feather, and she says to me, “it’s your last shot to find Missy.” I’m thinking if there’s nothing in the Thursday, Friday, or Sunday paper there’ll definitely be nothing in Monday’s. I flip to the back to the classifieds, which consequently were on page 2 I believe, and lo and behold what to my wondering eyes doth appear but “Found – Older Female Beagle in Norris Hills – Call…”)! Holy Cow or something of that nature spews from my mouth. I call the elderly lady that lives around the corner who found Missy as she came wondering up to play with her grandson last week. She kept her for a day then called PAWS to come get her. PAWS? Huh, I called PAWS on Friday. Anyway…I had just missed her when I called on Friday and apparently the lady who took my information has a severe case of short term memory loss because she never called me back like she said if they brought in an older spotted beagle. I Jumped in the truck and lit out to positively identify my dog at the “Daisy Hill Puppy Mill.” A PAWS escort takes me out back to show me the lineup. Her: Your dog? Me: Nope that a Rottwieler. Her: Your dog? Me: Nope that’s a Chihuahua. Her: Your dog? Me: Nope, are sure that’s a dog? Then my ears hear a familiar song that only a beagle owner can appreciate. Baawwww bawwwww bawwwww…that’s my dog! Her: Oh that’s yours; well she’s been here since Friday. We had her prepped and ready for adoption. Me: What’s that mean? Her: It means we need $60 if you want that dog. Me: Lady, you know Dave Ramsey? Her: You know any brokenhearted crying 7 year old boys? Me: Who do I make the check out to? Christy called me later as she and Missy picked Winston up from school. She said the look on his face was priceless. I hoped she would say it was a smile worth $50 and I’d go back and try to retrieve $10 bucks from the forgetfully gifted puppy mill, but I let it go. Anyway…Missy the friendly family countryside and neighborhood beagle has just taken up residence with the cat in the house. An idea that I never thought I would EVER hear come off the lips of my animal tolerant wife. She likes them, but their only in the house because the site of a depressed Cub Scout in uniform is more than a mom can bear. We even came strolling in last night and Christy had given Missy a bath, dried her, brushed her and had her ready for bed. Oh what we’ll do for our children.I have to go now, Missy’s tugging my pants leg, I think Winston has fallen down a well…