I didn’t want a dog.
Not really.
I didn’t grow up with pets. We had one dog once….but only for a couple of weeks before my mom decided it was too much to deal with, and they gave him away. We had a bird once, too – an obnoxious parakeet. Not sure whatever happened to that bird. We had a bunny for a short bit, but that didn’t exactly work out either.
Yet here I was – a busy mom and pastor’s wife, raising four young kids….and I thought a dog was the last thing I needed to add to the cacophony and chaos.
But I was completely outnumbered…and lost the vote.
Keli, my oldest girl, was born an animal lover. And she knew exactly what kind of dog she wanted – a German Shepherd, of all things. And of course, she convinced her siblings tha they, too, wanted a German Shepherd.
So, we were on the lookout for a German Shepherd.
Looking in the newspaper want ads (remember those???), we found an ad for an older German Shepherd – “Free to a Good Home”. We were a good home, my girl convinced me, and the perfect home for “Annie”….my girl had already named her, and we hadn’t even met the dog yet.
We visited “Annie” on a Saturday, and found a sad, dirty, older German Shepherd, who wasn’t even remotely interested in any of us – but my girl was in love. She threw her arms around that mangy dog and hugged her with all her might. Her siblings were a bit scared, but eventually they became brave enough to pet her.
The next weekend, the “bigs” left with their dad to pick up Annie, while the “smalls” stayed home with me. When they returned home a couple of hours later, I was shocked to see that they had not one dog, but two. While traveling to pick up Annie, the kid’s dad received a call from a friend who knew we were looking for a dog. A small, light-colored puppy had been abandoned on the Pearl Harbor Admiral’s back lanai….would we take her?
The vote in the car was unanimous.
And now we had two dogs.
I was a bit more than annoyed. I would say I bordered on seething anger. How was I going to keep up not only with four kids, a part-time job as a para-educator, the various duties that come with being a pastor’s wife…and now two dogs?
Yeah…I was not happy.
But the kids were….well, at least the “bigs” were. The smalls were terrified – but not of Annie….no, they were scared silly over the little mutt puppy, because she was EVERYWHERE. Upstairs, downstairs, zooming around the table, running full-speed throughout the house…jumping on the beds, the furniture, the kids. Bethany stood there and cried…Mark ran and hid in the bathroom.
I asked the kids what they wanted to name this little hyperactive puppy. Keli wasn’t interested at all in having that conversation – all she cared about was “her” German Shepherd…”Annie”. She really wanted nothing to do this extra dog. She wouldn’t even pet it – she just led Annie all over the house, showing her around, telling her about all of the adventures they would have together. I suggested to the other three that we name the puppy “Biscuit” after the children’s books by the same name, because her fur was the exact same color as “Biscuit” in the story books – everyone agreed that it was the PERFECT name.
We had set up a dog house in the backyard – this was Hawaii – many families kept their dogs outside, so we had planned to do the same. We settled them down in their dog house with food, water and soft blankets, and then went to bed.
The next morning, around 5:30 am, we were awakened by a nearly hysterical Keli – Annie was GONE. She had chewed through her harness, and had taken off. Keli was beside herself – a complete wreck. And of course, we started searching – first on foot, than in our car, weaving up and down the streets of Manoa Valley, looking for Annie.
We never found her.
And I had one incredibly and understandably distraught little girl on my hands.
However, once the tears subsided and once she was convinced that we had done absolutely everything we could, from calling all of the shelters to nailing “Lost Dog” posters to the telephone poles (we didn’t have a picture of her yet)….Keli remembered that she still had a dog.
Biscuit.
And so, Keli went from wanting nothing to do with Biscuit, to being nearly inseparable from her. They became fast friends. Tim, too, quickly became attached – teaching Biscuit to play fetch for hours on end. And the “smalls”, Mark and Beth, quickly got over their fear and went straight to work at putting that poor dog through all of the small-kid type activities……too-rough petting, being dressed up in doll clothes, trying to teach her all kinds of tricks, and feeding her whatever food they didn’t want for dinner, under the table and thinking that I didn’t know they were doing it.
She became family.
We loved her so.
And, so did everyone who met her. Our neighbor next door – a grumpy old woman who never neglected to tell me how incredibly loud my kids were bought Biscuit special doggy treats and would sneak them to her through the fence. Our other neighbors all knew Biscuit by name, because she always accompanied us on walks and bike rides. Church members never failed to gift Biscuit with a bone or new toy at Christmas…..and she played the part of a Sheep every year in our Christmas Story Drive-Through Play.
She was Hawaiian through and through – her favorite days were spent outside…at the beach, fetching a stick thrown into the waves over and over again, or hiking up to Manoa Falls, or along the Pu’u Ohia Trail. When we would hike as a family…the “smalls” and I would often fall behind, while the “bigs” would surge ahead. Biscuit was our watchdog on those hikes – she’d run to the front of the group, and then run all the way back to whoever was lagging behind. She’d keep this up the entire trip, trying to keep us together and make sure that we were all still OK.
She was protective of us – never in a snapping or biting way – but in a “these are my people and my responsibility, so I’m going to watch over them” way.
And then we moved to Virginia.
The kid’s dad had taken a new position at our current church, Seaford Baptist Church. The church graciously agreed to cover the expense of bringing Biscuit with us. But because we needed to get settled first, Biscuit had to stay in Hawaii with dear friends for about a month. That was such a lonely time for all of us – we missed her so. When her arrival day finally came, we were ecstatic – and so was Biscuit.
She had so missed us. And we, her.
The kids grew. And Biscuit grew. Never bigger – she remained small – but older, calmer. Not as hyper, not as active…but she still kept pace with the kids, as much as possible.
Life with Biscuit was good…very good.
And then, one shocking and terrifying and unbelievably dark, dreadful day, our world was shattered.
The kid’s father – our church’s youth minister – my husband – was arrested for horrific crimes.
And everything we knew to be good and solid and stable, became very much unstable, and terrifying, and disorienting. My kids were thrown into this uncertain swirl of activity and hiding and leaving the area immediately to get away from the news crews that were reporting on this terrible and devastating story. I was terrified, angry, grieving, wrecked, hurt…and forced to make decisions and plans that were huge and life-altering. We packed up our home, giving pretty much everything away.
Except Biscuit.
I knew I should probably find a new home for her – with the storm we were navigating raging, I had no business trying to also take care of a dog.
But, I just couldn’t. The kids had just lost their father – he would eventually be sentenced to 17 years in prison – they had lost their home, their school, their friends, their church.
I could not let them lose Biscuit.
Sweet friends took Biscuit into their home, while we started to put the pieces of our lives back together again. Our church, school district and community all asked us to stay in the area. With nowhere else really to go, we returned back to Seaford after a brief stint away. Our church graciously allowed us to move back into the parsonage.
And we brought Biscuit back home.
Those days were dark….very dark. And there were many nights where I could not sleep. My mind would not stop. I agonized over how I was going to provide for my family. I struggled with decisions on how much contact to let them have with their father. I worked 2 & 3 jobs, to try to make ends me. And, my soul ached and burned with questions of “Why?” and “Where is God?”
On those sleepless nights, at 2:00, 3:00, 4:00 am, when the parsonage walls seemed to cave in on me and I couldn’t still the pain raging in my mind and soul…I would be compelled to leave the parsonage, walk barefooted across the parking lot, and let myself into the church sanctuary. I would either sit on the couches in the wings of our sanctuary, or lay down at the altar. Sometimes I’d sit there, numb and unfeeling. Other times, hot tears flowed. Sometimes I could pray; often I could not.
After awhile, once my soul had settled enough to return home, I’d let myself back out, lock the side door behind me, and trod back across the parking lot to the parsonage.
And, every single time, Biscuit was there, awake, waiting for me at the door, looking up at me with those deep, dark brown eyes. She’d follow me back to my bedroom or to the couch, and jump up beside me and lay down next to me.
And, in those moments, she brought me so much comfort. She didn’t expect or need anything from me. She just was there – and that brought much peace. I told her things that I’ve never told anyone…I shared my hurt and pain with her, because she was a patient and listening friend.
And, each of my kids have said that they, too, have shared their hurts and fears and pain with Biscuit. She was their young souls’ confidante and non-judging, patient friend.
We eventually settled into our new normal. The Methodist church down the road had a parsonage we could rent, so we moved in there so that our new pastor could occupy our church’s parsonage. Our new home had a policy of “no pets”….so, once again, our dear friends took in Biscuit for us, while we figured out what to do.
But oh, how we missed her. We were all still reeling – the kids were struggling. I was gone from the house each day from about 6:30 am, till nearly 11pm some nights, as I worked various jobs in those early days. The kids were still young – ranging from elementary to high school ages. They were left to pretty much fend for themselves while I worked. It was rough – there are not words enough to describe how rough it was.
And, we missed our Biscuit dog.
One evening – a rare night when I was home…I looked around at my kids faces. They were miserable. We were all miserable. We needed something good. Something right. Something to bring joy back into our little home.
So, that night, we snuck Biscuit in.
I really only intended her to stay that one night. I fully intended to return her to our friend’s home the next day.
But the happiness and laughter and fun we had that evening with Biscuit….my soul, I couldn’t bear to take her away from my crew again.
She stayed another night, and then another. And that sweet, beautiful church that we rented our little house from, turned a blind eye to it and never said a word.
For so many reasons, I will always love that little church. But letting us keep Biscuit is my most favorite reason.
Fast forward to today.
God brought a wonderful man into my life, and into my crew’s life. (If you’d like, you can read more about that, by clicking here: Great is Thy Faithfulness) We were married this past February, and we moved into a big, beautiful home…..with the most wonderful, enormous, fenced in backyard.
Biscuit was now 15 years old. She had slowed down significantly, and slept a big portion of each day. But when we moved into our new home, it revitalized her – we saw flashbacks in her, to her puppy days, as she explored every single each of our new yard. She’d run around, sniffing for the perfect place to “do her business”, and then she’d socialize through the fence with our neighbors dogs. When her “cousin” dogs Ollie and Baxter (Keli’s dogs) would come over, she’d cautiously interact with them…and would even romp and play a bit, until she got tired or had enough. She would eagerly wait for us at the top of the staircase, when we’d return home from being away. And each day she would settle on the couch in our office, to keep us company while we worked.
She was so, so happy here.
And I am so very glad we were able to give her these months of happiness and rest, in this beautiful and peaceful home.
Last Saturday, on July 21st, 2018 – after a week-long illness that we quickly came to realize she would never fully recover from – we made the decision to put our sweet Biscuit dog to sleep.
And it was one of the most gut-wrenching and grief-stricken decisions I’ve ever had to make.
The vet and staff were tremendous. They had closed for the day, but waited patiently for Tim, my oldest son, to be released by his ship’s commanding officer so that he could come be with us. We FaceTimed my youngest girl, who was in Hawaii visiting her grandparents. We stood in that little examining room – all six of us, and Biscuit – and we told her “Goodbye” and held her as her heart was stilled and her breathing ceased.
And then we each wept many tears, in deep grief. For so many things – for all of the hurt, for all of the pain, for all we had experienced together, and for all we had lost.
And, of course, for our dear Biscuit.
She was loyal.
She never abandoned us.
She was family.
And, we will miss her so.
Today we stopped by the Veterinary office to take the staff flowers to thank them for being so kind to us, and to donate Biscuit’s medicine, remaining food, and some supplies. My sweet husband had paid to have her cremated, and 10 minutes before we arrived with the flowers, her ashes had arrived at the office, so the staff gave them to us – – and a fresh wave of grief washed over me….and then over the kids, when we brought the simple wooden box back to the house.
Tonight, I am writing this through tears. But, writing is how I process all things in life – whether I am joyful or in deep despair.
Writing is how I give honor and thanks to God, for His grace and mercy.
And tonight, I write about sweet Biscuit out of gratitude in my soul to God, for bringing her so unexpectedly into our lives 15 years ago, on that island way out in the Pacific Ocean.
She has often been a ray of sunshine.
And memories of her, though painful now, will eventually settle into smiles of joy, when we sit around someday and tell “Biscuit Stories” together as a family.
Goodbye, sweet girl. Thank you for loving us so well.
