He was shaped like a collie, but instead of gold and white, his matted coat held black, white and shades of gray. I later found out he was a Blue Merle, but at the time, I just thought he was beautiful. As he came closer, I scanned his eyes and mouth for signs of aggression or the baring of teeth. Seeing neither, I spoke softly to him.

“Well hello, boy. Who are you?”

He walked over and sat by my side as if that was where he belonged. Panting in the heat, he gazed at me with calm blue eyes as if to say, “I’m here. Now what are you going to do?”

I couldn’t resist. I patted his head and talked to him, and when he pressed his wet nose into my hand, I fell in love. He didn’t have on a collar, so I led him to the fenced-in back yard and ran into the house for a water bowl. I watched him empty the bowl in big, thirsty gulps, and wondered what on earth to do next.

It was not a good time for us to get a dog. With my husband just settling into his new career as a travel consultant with a large software company, and a pre-teen son to raise, I didn’t need the added responsibility or the expense. All of our savings had been spent keeping the household going after Brent had lost his job. Fifteen years of service to the automotive industry hadn’t meant a thing when the plant shut down and our small Midwest town went into a depression. Most of his paycheck went to repay the travel school loan and my part-time work as a grade-school secretary didn’t stretch far enough to include dog food and vet bills. On top of all that, I’d recently had to put my mother in a skilled nursing facility. She had come to live with us two years before, when she’d been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. I’d managed the best I could, but eventually her condition became more than I was equipped to deal with. Alzheimer’s proved a heartless enemy, claiming a little more territory every day, until finally it turned my sweet, soft-spoken mother into a sharp-tongued stranger. Between trying to juggle my duties as a wife and mother, bring home a paycheck, and still be some kind of daughter to this ill-tempered woman who’d once been my best friend, I just didn’t have any energy left to give to a dog.

While I silently debated whether or not to call the animal shelter, the dog drank his fill, then, with eyes clear and alert, he sat and quietly watched me. Except for the dirt on his coat, he appeared to be in excellent physical condition and was so well-mannered that I knew he must have been expertly trained. Someone must be frantic over his loss, I thought, perhaps even a child. If I called the shelter, his owners might not find him in time. And besides that, I felt I had made a friend.

Brent’s new job meant traveling several days each week, and while I knew and accepted the conditions, I hadn’t been prepared for the waves of loneliness I felt in the evenings after Sean was in bed. It hadn’t been bad the first month or even the next one. I loved controlling the TV remote, and when nothing was on I wanted to watch, I would read the latest novels from the library, losing myself in the exotic worlds the authors created.

But after the first three months, the novelty wore off and the evenings dragged on. I felt like an extra person merely tolerated by our friends, so I began turning down invitations to socialize. From my front window I could see other couples going out for the evening and families leaving for soccer games or the movies. I’d turn away, trying to remember that if Brent did well his first year, he’d be up for a promotion and would no longer have to travel. If I just had someone to talk to, I could get through the first year. But underneath, I was feeling a simmering resentment because I had to spend so much of my time without my husband.

We’d had such a good life. While not rich, Brent and I had managed to buy our home and raise Sean for twelve years without too much worry. And Mom, I thought with a pang, Mom was always more than happy to come and stay with Sean when Brent and I wanted a night out. We gave the usual weekend barbeques in the back yard, had friends over and even managed, with careful budgeting, to take in a movie once a month. We’d been happy, so why did it all have to change?

The dog whined, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“Are you hungry?” I asked. His ears perked up. Wondering what I might have to feed such a large dog, I headed for the back door. As if it had been routine for years, he followed me into the house.

Over the next few days, I grew to love “Dutch,” whom I named after the legendary Flying Dutchman, a sea captain doomed to endlessly wander the earth until he found someone to love him. Sean adored Dutch and loved playing tag with a tennis ball. Dutch would fetch the ball, returning it wet and soggy from chewing. He fit into our family so perfectly it was as if he had always been there.

Two weeks later, Brent and I sat at the kitchen table, trying once again to stretch one dollar into ten. “Dutch’s checkup cost more than our groceries last week, Karen,” Brent said testily. “We’re going to have to get rid of him.”

Knowing he was right, I reluctantly placed a classified ad in the paper, secretly hoping no one would claim him. He’d proved to be a wonderful companion, not only for Sean, but for me, too. He listened politely when I talked to him in the evenings, his pretty, blue eyes intently watching my face, and lay quietly by my side when I picked up a novel, or when I sat outside gazing at the stars, missing my husband. And more than that, he made me feel safe. When the washer repairman knocked on the door, Dutch didn’t bark. He didn’t even growl, but he placed himself between the repairman and me and wouldn’t move until I assured him it was all right.

Two weeks after I placed the ad, just when I’d allowed myself to hope Dutch was ours to keep, the telephone rang.

“I’m calling about the collie you found,” a man’s voice said. “You didn’t say in your ad, but if it’s a Blue Merle, it’s my dog. I bought a new collar and it must have slipped off.”

Oh, no! I thought, feeling sick. I was tempted to tell him Dutch wasn’t his, to say that the rightful owners had picked the dog up a few days ago.

“I think you found Charlie,” he said, before I could speak. “At least I hope so. My five-year-old daughter hasn’t stopped crying since he got loose. Can I pick him up right now?”

I knew then that I couldn’t keep him, but I wanted time to prepare my son. Then I realized it might be better for them to come and get Dutch before Sean got home from school. With a heavy heart, I gave him our address.

Twenty minutes later, a SUV pulled into our drive, and a blonde man in his early thirties got out, carrying a platinum-haired little girl of about five. He whispered something to her, gave her a dog collar and a leash, and she ran up the walk toward me.

“Charlie?” she called, looking around for him.

I opened the screen door, let Dutch out and watched as he ran to her. The little girl plopped down on the walk and hugged him. He pranced around her and licked her face.

As if he knew he was leaving, Dutch walked to me and pressed his nose into my hand, then ran back to his family. When the man opened the car door, Dutch, or Charlie jumped in. Watching the red taillights disappear down the street, I knew I had done the right thing, but I felt as if I’d lost my best friend. And my resentment grew. Why did all of the good things have to be taken away?

That night, I had my own grieving child to deal with. Sean didn’t even eat supper, an event so unusual that I took his temperature. All evening he moped around the house, his eyes glistening with the tears a boy of his age would rather die than show anyone, even his mother. When I listened to his prayers at bedtime, I had to fight my own tears.

“God bless Mom and Dad and please keep Dad safe. And bless Dutch, wherever he is.” His voice broke. “Let him know I love him.”

After I tucked him into bed, I stretched out alongside of him. I wanted Sean to learn to express his feelings, to not keep them bottled up inside. I propped my head on my hand.

“I know it’s difficult to give Dutch up,” I said, careful to keep my voice steady, “but I’m proud of you. You’re taking it well.”

“That’s just on the outside,” Sean said, not looking at me. “He liked it here, Mom. Why did you have to put the ad in the paper?”

“It was the right thing to do, sweetheart,” I said, giving him a hug. “Sometimes it’s hard to do the right thing, but he had a family who loved and missed him.”

“But now we miss him. It’s just not fair. Everything’s always changing.”

What could I possibly say to my son? How could I explain it when I didn’t fully understand it myself? All evening it had been difficult to keep a brave face when all I wanted to do was smash a dish against the wall. But I needed to give Sean a good answer so I thought long and hard about what to say.

“I really don’t know why good things have to change, sweetheart. I just know they do. Sometimes change can be great, like when we found this house and moved out of the apartment. It’s been such a wonderful home for us.”

“But then Grandma had to go away, and Dad lost his job,” Sean said, “and now he’s gone most of the time.”

“Yes, it’s rough for all of us right now, but who knows? Maybe the new job will turn out better for all of us. Dad and I think that if we’re careful with our money, we might even be able to go to Disney World next summer. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“That would be the bomb, Mom!” he said, his eyes lighting up. “Greg went there on spring break and he said Space Mountain was awesome. And he even got his picture taken with Cinderella, and she’s hot!”

“You see?” I said, trying to hide a smile. “If Dad had stayed at his old job, I doubt we’d ever get to go. We need to keep trying to find the good in what happens instead of always thinking about the way things used to be.”

“But what about Dutch? Why’d he have to leave? He had a good home here. And,” he sniffed, “we loved him.”

“If you had seen how happy that little girl was when she saw her dog, and the way Dutch ran to her and kissed her face, well, you’d know it turned out the way it was supposed to. Dutch is home with the family he’s always known. We gave him a good home until his family could find him, and we kept him safe.”

“Can we get another dog, Mom?”

“I’ll talk to your father about it, but I don’t see any reason why not. We’ll find a dog that’s meant just for us.”

After leaving Sean’s bedroom, I headed to the kitchen for a cup of tea, feeling like such a hypocrite. Look ahead, I told him, instead of looking back. I wondered when I’d be able to do the same. Alone in the quiet kitchen, I punched in Brent’s cell number. Trying not to cry, I told him what happened.

“That’s too bad, Karen,” he said. “But he sure didn’t fit into our budget.” I heard the insincerity in his voice and knew he was glad Dutch was gone.

What made you think he’d care, Karen? I thought. He wasn’t ever home long enough to see how special Dutch was. Anger rose up inside me, but I pushed it down. The last thing I needed that night was a fight with my husband.

“Sean wants another dog,” I said. “I’m thinking of looking at the animal shelter. I’ve heard they have a variety of dogs there and it doesn’t cost as much as buying from a breeder.”

Brent sighed. “Think of our budget, Karen. If we couldn’t afford to keep Dutch, then we can’t afford another dog. How about a cat?”

“A cat?”

“Honey, I have to go. I’m in the middle of drafting a large presentation for first thing in the morning. Love you.”

I hung up the phone, not sure whether to laugh or cry. Think of our budget, he’d said, but somehow, all I could think of was Sean’s tear-stained face. I was tired of thinking of the budget! Just once, I wanted to buy something we didn’t necessarily need. I wanted to spend money that wasn’t budgeted down to the last penny. Brent and I had always made our decisions together, and I rarely went against his judgment, but thinking of the hopeful expression in my son’s eyes, I knew that this was one time I would have to go against Brent’s wishes.

The next day, as soon as I’d finished my eight to twelve shift at the elementary school, I headed for the animal shelter. I knew Brent wouldn’t be happy, but I rationalized my decision by telling myself he was never home anyway, so getting a dog wasn’t really going to affect him very much. And it would mean the world to Sean.

The sound of barking dogs greeted me as I pulled into the shelter’s parking lot, and after registering at the front desk, the clerk directed me through a set of double doors in the back.

Passing through the doors, I stood at the head of a long corridor with floor to ceiling cages on either side. Each cage, constructed of cyclone fencing, held four small dogs, and every one of them seemed to be barking. A male attendant moved from one cage to the next, inserting a hose in the fencing to wash down the cages. The smell of wet, dirty fur, combined with the odor of animal urine and feces was almost enough to make me turn back. But thinking of Dutch, and how much he’d added to our lives, I pushed ahead. The cement floor was wet, and yellow clapboard signs cautioned visitors to please stay on the long rubber mats strung down the middle of the aisle.

Since the cages were made of fencing material, I could easily see the dogs. It looked as if the first corridor held small dogs, caged according to size. I wasn’t familiar with all the breeds, but walking down the hallway, I passed terriers, poodles, Chihuahuas, and even one of those beautiful little white dogs. Maltese, I remembered later. Who would get rid of such a pretty little dog? I wondered.

Most of the dogs were barking; some were running back and forth in their small cages. I had always hated to see any living thing penned, so I didn’t want to look. And besides that, I wanted to find the big dogs, so I hurried past the first few cages with barely a glance. I was almost to the next set of double doors when suddenly, I heard a tiny, sorrowful whine. It was such a small sound, one that never should have been heard above all the frantic barking. But somehow, I did, and it stopped me in my tracks.

In the cage to my left, three little dogs were barking and jumping, desperate to get my attention. But they weren’t what caught my eye. In the front of the cage, right square in the middle of a puddle of water, stood a small brown and white dog, his nose pressed through one of the holes in the fencing, his big brown eyes staring right into mine. I could almost hear him saying, Please, pick me.

I felt such a tugging on my heart that I couldn’t move. Keep walking, Karen, I told myself. You’re here to get a big dog, remember? I took another step. I didn’t want a small, yapping dog. I wanted what I’d had with Dutch -- a large, brave dog, one that would protect my son and me, one that would give me a sense of comfort and companionship.

The dog whined again. Even though I knew I shouldn’t, I looked into those big, sad eyes and I knew I couldn’t leave him there. Before I could change my mind, I pushed through the double-doors searching for the attendant. He was halfway down the next corridor, hosing down the cages.

Grabbing his arm, I said, “There’s a dog in the other room I’d like to see.”

“Sure,” the young man said. Tall and slim, he wore a khaki-colored uniform with long sleeves. Joe, his name tag said. “Give me just a minute, Ma’am.” He twisted the nozzle on the hose, set it down, and followed me.

I hurried through the double-doors and pointed at the brown and white dog. “That one,” I said.

“Ah,” Joe said. “He’s a nice one.” He retrieved a leash from a hook on the wall and unlocked the door, opening it just wide enough to slip through.

Once inside, he hooked the leash to the dog, led him out, and locked the door behind him.

The dog stood about nine inches high, with a full body, long hair and short legs. He might have been proud, once, but that day, his ears drooped, and his tail was almost between his legs. With his fur soaking wet, he stood trembling and dripping water, but he didn’t try to run, didn’t even move. He simply stared at me with his beautiful eyes until I couldn’t stand it any more.

“I’ll take him.”

“I’m really glad to hear that,” Joe said. “The little fella’s scheduled to be put down tomorrow.”

“Put…put down?” I asked

Joe drew his finger across his throat and I shuddered. Hearing that, I couldn’t get ‘Puddles’ out of that shelter fast enough. After signing all of the papers and paying the fee, I put him in the passenger seat of my car and headed for home.

Puddles slept soundly for the first few miles as I drove, but when I was about four miles from home, he woke up and started to heave. Spotting a Pizza Hut, I pulled into the parking lot and jammed my car into the first empty spot. I grabbed the end of the leash I’d bought at the shelter, clipped it to Puddles’ collar, and lifted him from the car. He threw up twice in the parking lot and then stood with his tail down, as if he were ashamed of himself.

“Let’s see if we can find you something to drink,” I soothed, patting his damp fur. Luckily, I always kept a bottle of water in my car, so I poured some into my hands and Puddles was able to get a bit of a drink. He heaved again, and after the spasm passed through his little body, he looked up at me. The expression on his face was so pitiful that I just wanted to hold and comfort him.

A terrifying thought came to me, and I pulled him close and hugged him. What if he had a terrible disease? I stared up at the bright blue sky. Please… Oh, please, let him be all right. I hadn’t known him more than an hour, but already I loved him.

Back home, I looked up the number of the local veterinarian. I made the call, and a woman of about my age told me in a pleasant voice that I could bring Puddles right over, so back into the car we went. I filled out the necessary forms, and after a short wait, Dr. Walker examined Puddles, checking his teeth, eyes and ears, and then his skin and coat. I watched, holding my breath.

“He’s still just a puppy,” she said, “I’d estimate about a year old. He looks like a Pomeranian with perhaps a little Spitz thrown in. His skin looks good. Dry, but no signs of mange or skin lesions.” She ran her hands down his body, checking for breaks or joint displacement, she explained. “Everything seems okay there,” she said, smiling.

I felt myself beginning to breathe a little easier.

Puddles lay quietly while she took his temperature, whether from good breeding or illness, I couldn’t tell. “His temp’s slightly elevated,” the vet said, reading the thermometer. “Nothing to worry about. It’s common for an animal that’s been in the pound.” She took blood and fecal samples, and even a set of x-rays. “It will be a few days before the results come back, but unless the tests show otherwise, I’d say he’s in good physical health. I suspect he has a touch of pound fever, a low-grade infection. Antibiotics should clear it right up.”

“So you don’t think he has a terrible disease?” I asked.

“I think a few days on antibiotics will make a different pup out of him.” She scratched Puddles affectionately behind the ears. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” He licked her hand, and then lay back down. “I’ll phone you with the test results,” she told me, “but I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” She administered a couple of shots, and then an assistant led me back to the reception area.

Trying not to wince, I put the bill on my credit card, and hoped I could pay it before Brent had a chance to ask about it. I spent the last of my cash on a bag of dog food and a soft bed. On the way out, I was so relieved and happy that Puddles was okay I almost skipped to the car.

Sean was thrilled with his new puppy, and wanted to take Puddles right outside to play.

“Give him a few days to get well,” I told him. “Puddles feels like you do when you have the flu.” We both sat on the floor next to the dog. “It’s okay to pet him,” I said.

I watched as Sean’s clumsy, adolescent hands moved gently over the dog from his head to the tip of his tail. When Puddles licked his hand, Sean looked up at me and grinned. “Tell me again how you picked him out,” he begged. “Tell me everything, from start to finish. Don’t leave anything out.”

For the third time, I repeated the story down to the smallest detail. When I got to the part about Puddles whining, Sean’s smile grew wider.

“He knew we’d take care of him,” he said, hugging the dog. “Oh, Puddles, you’re the best dog in the whole wide world!”

Normally I looked forward to Brent’s nightly calls, but when the phone rang at nine o’clock that evening, I felt a knot of dread tighten in my stomach.

“Hi, hon,” he said. “Listen, I’ve only got a few minutes, but I wanted to tell you about the presentation.” I listened as he told me about his afternoon, and how his boss had complimented him on his hard work. “That’s wonderful, Brent,” I said sincerely. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I couldn’t have done it without your support, Karen,” he said. “So, what was your day like?”

I dreaded telling him about Puddles, but knowing there was no way around it, I forced a note of cheer into my voice and blurted, “It was wonderful. We got a new dog. A Pomeranian.”

There was silence for a moment, and then Brent said, “You got a dog? I thought we agreed we couldn’t afford it?”

“We didn’t agree on anything, Brent,” I said, anger creeping into my voice. “You didn’t have time to discuss it with me, remember?”

“A Pomeranian, no less,” he said, ignoring my barb. “How much did that set us back?”

“I got him at the animal shelter. He was only forty dollars, and that included his worm medicine and first round of shots.” I thought of the vet bill, and inwardly winced again. “He’s the nicest little dog, Brent,” I said, my tone softening. “You’re going to love him as much as Sean and I do.”

“Well, I can’t think why it would matter, now, whether I love him or not. Seems to me the decision’s already made.”

“Brent, please don’t be angry.”

“I have to go now, Karen. Good night.”

I heard the phone disconnect and wanted to cry. I’d thought getting a pet might help bring us together as a family, and instead I seemed to have driven another wedge between my husband and me. I fought back my tears and went to tuck Sean into bed. Listening to my son’s prayers of thankfulness, I felt guilty. When had I stopped learning to be thankful for little things? And when had I started thinking it was okay to lie to Brent? I vowed to try and have a more positive outlook on life, and to be more honest about my feelings. In the meantime, I’d try to get the credit card paid off before Brent found out about it. But seeing the smile on Sean’s face as he kissed his new puppy goodnight, I decided one thing I would not feel guilty about was getting the dog. I’d done the right thing. Surely Brent would see that, wouldn’t he?

After two days, Puddles perked up enough to run to the door when Sean got home from school. On the third day, when he bounded up onto Sean’s bed, I knew he was well enough for a bath. Sean gathered up a big, thirsty towel and a bottle of baby shampoo while I filled the tub with warm water. Though not crazy about being sudsed and rinsed, Puddles stood patiently while we bathed him. When we dried him off and brushed out his coat, we were both amazed. He was absolutely beautiful, with long, golden hair mixed with white. His ears were fluffy and his tail curled over his body like a golden white plume. I was so proud of him I used up a half a roll of film snapping pictures.

“Puddles, you’re beautiful” Sean said happily. “Just wait until Dad sees him!”

At that thought, the knot tightened in my chest.

By the end of the week Puddles was completely recovered from his fever. Though I’d bought him a variety of toys from the dollar store, he seemed more interested in Sean’s socks than anything else. When Sean arrived home from school, Puddles would be waiting at the door, tail wagging, a sock dangling from his mouth. Sean would get on the floor, grab the other end of the sock, and tug. They’d both make fierce growling noises until I laughed so hard I begged them to stop.

Earlier in the week, Sean had checked out a book on dog training from the library, and each afternoon, after their play time, he’d take Puddles out to the back yard and work with him to sit up, lie down, and fetch.

“Puddles is teaching him so much about responsibility,” I told Brent on the phone. “I’m so glad we got him.”

Brent didn’t answer, and I knew he was still angry.

When his car pulled in the driveway on Friday evening, I was as nervous as if he were there to pick me up for a first date. I went outside to greet him, and was relieved when he took me into his arms and returned my kiss. In the kitchen, I poured him a cup of coffee, fixing it up with cream and sugar, just the way he liked it.

“Where’s Sean?” he asked, looking around the room.

“He took Puddles out for a walk,” I told him. “He should be back any minute.”

Brent rolled his eyes, and I quickly turned the conversation back toward him. He told me about his presentation, and a little bit about his week. I’d just grabbed the coffee pot to top off his cup when Sean came flying through door.

“Hi, Dad!” I could tell he wanted to throw himself into Brent’s arms, but he stuck out his hand instead.

“How’s it going, Sport?” Brent asked, returning his handshake. “Did you have a good week?”

“The best ever! We got a dog. Look!” He held Puddles up for his father’s inspection. Seeing the small frown on Brent’s face, I held my breath.

“He’s kind of small, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, but he’s real smart. He knows how to sit, stay, and even roll over.” Puddles sat on the floor at Brent’s feet, watching him warily.

“He doesn’t seem to have much energy.”

“That’s because he’s been sick,” Sean said. I could literally see the wind leaking out of his sails. Brent stared at me. “Forty bucks for a sick dog?”

Sean hugged the dog close, looking like he wanted to cry, and I could have kicked Brent. “Honey, why don’t you take Puddles out on the porch and give him a nice drink,” I said gently.

When Sean disappeared out the back door, I whirled on my husband. “How could you?” I demanded.

“How could I what?”

“He loves that dog. Why did you have to be so negative?”

“I wasn’t being negative,” he said, picking up the newspaper.

“You were too.” I grabbed the paper out of his hands. No way was he going to ignore me. “You made up your mind before you even saw Puddles that you didn’t like him.”

“Karen, this is crazy. I’m not going to sit here and fight with you about that dog.”

“It’s not crazy. And it’s not about the dog. It’s about you wanting to control everything that goes on in this house.”

He rose to his feet. “I don’t need this crap tonight, Karen. I‘ve worked hard all week, I don’t need to come home to this.”

I knew he was angry, and I shouldn’t push him, but somehow I couldn’t stop the anger and resentment that had been building up inside of me for weeks from spilling out.

“It’s been a picnic for me, I suppose?”

“Oh, I get it. This is when I get to hear all about how tough your life is, right? How bad you’ve got it. Well, you know what, sweetheart? You can save it for another time when I’m not feeling so tired and beaten. Why don’t you think about how it is for me. Don’t you realize what it’s like to start all over in a new career at my age? I’m having to fight and struggle each day so I don’t want to hear about your problems with a dog right now. I just want a chance to relax and get some rest so I can go right back out and do it all over again.”

He stalked into the living room and turned on the TV, leaving me to stare after him in hurt silence. Oh, my God, he was right. I should be more considerate of how he’s feeling, but I was too steeped in my own misery to talk to him. I went up to bed and opened a new book, but found myself too upset to concentrate on what I was reading. That night, Brent slept in the guest room while I lay in our cold, lonely bed, crying. My marriage was coming apart, and for the life of me, I didn’t know how to put it back together.

The next morning I awoke to sunshine streaming through the windows. I went to the bathroom and splashed a handful of cold water on my puffy eyelids, vowing I would do my best to make it a good day. Earlier in the week, I’d planned to ask Brent if he wanted to go on a picnic at one of the nearby parks. I’d had lovely daydreams of Brent charcoaling hamburgers, while Sean and Puddles played fetch under a shady tree. Maybe it can still work out, I thought hopefully.

I went down to the kitchen and made chocolate chip pancakes, Brent’s favorite. When he and Sean appeared in the kitchen, I set a steaming platter on the table, forced a smile, and mentioned my plan.

Sean was all for the idea, but Brent merely frowned. “Not today, Karen. Phil’s coming over this morning to help me repair the shed.”

“Oh, all right then,” I said, trying hard not to let my disappointment show. Brent had so little time at home these days, and he had to make the household repairs when he could. And after all, I was the one who had bugged him last weekend about the shed. I put on a smile, and even though I didn’t care for Phil’s current girlfriend, I said, “Why don’t have him bring Wanda? I’ll throw some hamburgers on the grill. We can have a picnic right here.”

“Do whatever you want, Karen,” Brent said, adding pointedly, “You‘re the one who makes all of the decisions around here now.”

I finished my breakfast, determined not to let Brent’s sour mood spoil the day. I’d so looked forward to a family outing this weekend, but any time Phil was around there was guaranteed to be fun, I consoled myself.

Even though they were as different as could be, Brent and Wayne Forrester had been best friends since the sixth grade. Whereas Brent was slim and serious, Phil was built like a wrestler at six and a half feet tall and almost three hundred pounds. A big, boisterous man, Wayne’s sense of humor was as big as his oversized shoes. I’d often thought that if Brent hadn’t asked me first, I would have married Wayne in a second.

At ten o’clock sharp, Wayne strode into the kitchen, gave Sean a high-five, and then scooped me up in bear hug. “How’s the prettiest little gal in Illinois?” he boomed.

It was his standard greeting, and Brent didn’t mind in the least. Puddles, however, was quite another story. Without warning, he burst into the room and hurled himself at Wayne’s feet, snarling and growling.

“Whoa,” Wayne chuckled. “Who have we got here!”

“Puddles, no!” I said, horrified.

His legs too short to reach anything else, Puddles nipped at Wayne’s shoes.

“He’s never done anything like this before,” I said apologetically as I scooped up my furry protector. “Puddles, you stop it this minute. Wayne is our friend.”

Wayne laughed and held out his hand so Puddles could sniff. “It’s all right, little guy. See, I’m harmless.”

“The dog’s a nuisance,” Brent muttered.

“Nah, he’s just doing his job.” Wayne patted Puddles on the head. “You’re a good boy."

The two men went outside, and I gave Puddles an extra big hug, rewarding his bravery with a doggie biscuit. For such a small dog, he had the heart of a lion. He’d done his very best to protect me when he thought I was in danger, and I loved him for it.

I spent the rest of the weekend feeling like I was walking on egg shells, doing my best to keep peace in my household. I was actually relieved when Brent left on Monday morning for a three-day conference.

Tuesday was my night to go to the nursing home and visit my mother. She rarely knew who I was anymore, but still, I felt obligated to spend time with her, whether she was happy to see me or not. On Tuesday afternoon, I put a casserole in the oven for dinner, threw in a load of laundry, and then worked to get caught up on my housework. Puddles followed me from room to room, listening patiently as I told him my troubles.

“It’s terrible, a grown woman afraid to go and visit her own mother,” I said, swiping a dust cloth across the coffee table. “But that’s the way I feel any more, Puddles. I’m afraid to see her because I never know what I’m going to find when I walk into that room.” Puddles whined softly, looking at me with his big brown eyes, and I could have sworn he understood every word I said.

After dinner, I stood on the sidewalk and watched as Sean walked down the block to his friend, Jimmy Taylor’s house, where he played on Tuesday nights while I was at the nursing home. I washed the dishes, and then went into the bathroom to put on a clean blouse and comb my hair. When I returned to the kitchen for my purse, Puddles brought his leash and laid it at my feet.

“No, sweetheart,” I said, patting his head, “You’re not going this time. I have to go to the nursing home, remember?”

He whined softly and nudged the leash closer to me.

“I’m sorry, Puddles. You can’t go, as much as Mom would probably love to see you.”

He wagged his tail and gave a soft “Yip.”

I thought about it for a moment. Why not?

On an impulse, I called to see what the nursing home’s policy was on animals, and was delighted when the nurse on the phone said it would be fine if I brought the dog for a visit, as long as he was potty trained. Assuring her he was, I packed Puddles into the car and off we went.

I walked into room 213 and found my mother sitting in her chair, staring off into space. The TV was tuned to Jeopardy!, her favorite program, but she didn’t seem to be watching it. I felt the old, familiar sadness well up inside me, and choked it back.

"Hello, Mom,” I said quietly.

She turned to face me. “Hello, dear,” she said politely. As usual, I saw no recognition in her eyes, but thank heavens she was in a good mood this time.

“Look,” I said, indicating Puddles. “I brought a friend with me.”

When she saw Puddles, her face lit up. “So you did. Well then, let’s have a look at him.”

Puddles sat patiently while my mother’s slow, arthritic fingers moved through his fur. “He needs a good brushing,” Mom announced. She rummaged in her night stand drawer and pulled out a hair brush. I kept quiet while she ran it through Puddles’ fur, making a mental note to go to the store the next day and buy her a new one.

Mom talked to Puddles as she worked on his coat. For a moment, I wasn’t sure she even remembered I was there, until she chuckled.

“Do you remember that old coon hound the Parson’s used to have?”

“Yes,” I said softly. I held my breath, utterly stunned.

“You smuggled him up to your room one day and put your good church dress on that dog. Good Lord, what you didn’t think of, Karen Marie.”

For the first time in weeks, I felt like I had my mother back. I held in my tears as best I could while Mom rummaged in her drawer again and retrieved a box of Q-Tips. She went to work cleaning Puddles’ ears, talking to him again as if I weren’t there.

Later, out in my car, I let my tears flow freely. For a brief moment, I’d actually caught a glimpse of my beloved mother. Having someone to care for had somehow broken through the fog of confusion she lived in, and brought out the lovely person hidden inside.

I hugged Puddles close and he licked my face. “Thank you, Puddles,” I whispered, knowing it wasn’t nearly enough to say.

When Brent called that night I didn’t even bother to share my good news. In just a few weeks our relationship had become cold and distant, and I wondered if our marriage would survive the next few months.

Spring gave way to summer. As the weeks passed, Sean and Puddles became inseparable. And though I'd made it a hard and fast rule not to allow Puddles on the furniture, I gave in and allowed him to sleep at the foot of Sean's bed at night. When Brent was home, I did my best to keep Puddles out of his way. For Sean’s sake, I kept a smile on my face, but inside, I was seething with resentment. Everyone who knew Puddles loved him. What was Brent’s problem? Was rejecting Puddles, the dog I’d picked out, his way of somehow rejecting me?

On a Wednesday afternoon in late August, Brent came home with some good news. A position had unexpectedly opened up in one of his company’s branch offices, a half hour away, and Brent was being considered for the job.

“I’m interviewing tomorrow morning,” he told me. “If I can knock their socks off, I might just have a shot at the job.”

I was a mixed bag of emotions; happy, nervous, and I had to admit, scared. The way things had been between us, I wasn’t sure whether I even wanted Brent to be home anymore.

That night, when I listened to Sean’s hopeful prayer that his dad would get the job so he could be home with us again, I felt more than a little guilty for my secret thoughts.

We went to bed early that night so Brent could get a good night sleep. When he reached for me in bed that night, I opened my arms to him, but our lovemaking had begun to seem more of a chore than a pleasure. I lay awake for a long time that night, listening to the wind howl and the rain beat against the roof, and trying to think what to do about my strained relationship with Brent.

I awoke the next morning to the sound of soft whining, and a scratching at the bedroom door. Opening my eyes, I peered around our bedroom, trying to make sense of what I was hearing. Realizing that Puddles was scratching at our door, I hurried to get to him before he woke Brent. That’s not like him, I thought. Of all days!

“Karen,” Brent mumbled, “Go and see what that damn dog wants.”

I glanced at the clock. To my horror, it was flashing twelve. Last night’s storm must have knocked the power lines out, and I had no idea what time it was, but the brightening sky outside my window told me we’d slept later than we should have.

“Brent, wake up!” I said, shaking him. “The power went out last night, and the alarm didn’t go off.”

Brent sprang out of bed and groped on the night stand for his cell phone. Flipping it open, he checked the time. Then he groaned. “I’ve only got ten minutes to get ready and get out of here.”

The next few moments passed in a blur. Brent pulled on a suit, ran a razor across his face and a comb through his hair, and grabbed his coffee on the way out the door. I gave him a quick kiss and a hurried, “Good luck,” and he was gone.

I prayed all day. This was our chance to be a family again. If Brent didn’t get the job, I didn’t think our marriage would survive.

I was on pins and needles until his car pulled in the driveway at two o’clock. When Brent walked in, I barely dared to glance at his face.

“How did it go?” I asked.

“It went great,” he said. “They offered me the job. It’ll mean a pay raise, but now you’re going to have to put up with me around here again.”

I threw myself into his arms, crying tears of joy. “Oh, Brent. I’m so happy.”

He held me close. “I know I’ve been a jerk lately, Karen, and I’m sorry.”

“We’ve both been under a strain,” I murmured.

“As for Puddles, well, I’ll admit I didn’t want you to get him, but he sure saved my life today. If he hadn’t woken us up this morning, I would have never made it to the interview.”

It was a beautiful moment, and the last thing I wanted was to spoil it, but I couldn’t help asking. “Why is it you don’t like him, Brent? He’s such a sweet little dog.”

“It’s not that I don’t like him, it’s just… well, he brings back a childhood memory I’d rather keep in the past.”

I stared at him, completely baffled. As far as I knew, Brent had had the perfect childhood. “What could be so bad?”

He sighed. “Growing up, I had a dog, a little beagle. His name was Doodle. I got him when I was about Sean’s age. Besides Phil, that dog was the best friend I’d ever had.”

“You never told me that,” I said.

“I don’t talk about him, Karen. I can hardly bear to think about him even after all these years.”

“Brent,” I said softly, “why?”

He took a deep breath. “The day I got my driver’s license, Phil and I made plans to go to the amusement park. After a few days of begging, my parents finally agreed to let me use their car. I was so excited about driving that I forgot the cardinal rule. I backed out of the driveway without even looking. I heard a terrible thump.” Tears gathered in his eyes. “Turned out Doodles was lying in a patch of sun behind the car.”

“Oh, Brent.”

“I know it seems silly, but I told myself I’d never get attached to an animal again. And I haven’t, until now.” He reached down and scratched Puddles behind the ears. “But that’s going to change.”

“Brent, I’m so sorry. I wish you’d told me that from the beginning.”

“I know I haven’t been very open with you, Karen,” he said. “I’ve been so busy being a provider, I haven’t been much of a friend. Or a father. But things are going to be better now. We’ll be a family again.”

Brent started his new job, and life got better again. We still have our ups and downs, and things are constantly changing, but I believe we are stronger for it. Even though we may fight the changes that life sometimes brings, they can also be wonderful blessings in disguise.

If Dutch hadn’t wandered into my yard that day, I wouldn’t have realized how much I wanted a dog. I might never have gotten Puddles, and then my family would have missed out on a wonderful gift. I thought I wanted a big dog, but I’ve learned that a dog doesn’t have to be big to possess a big love. And life doesn't have to be predictable to be good.