My Guardian Angel. . .
Our next door neighbor when I was growing up was Mrs. Campbell. She was an elderly widow lady, who at times baby sat my brother, sister, and I in our home when our parents went out for an evening.
She endlessly crocheted. I remember being fascinated by her index finger, where the thread ran across it. So many miles of thread had run across that finger, that it had formed a deep groove. . . a permanent channel in her finger. She hummed when she breathed. I don’t know if she has asthma, or emphysema, or some other breathing problem, or if she just naturally hummed as she took her breaths.
Another memory comes to my mind as I reminisce about these events 60+ years ago, she was a huge WWF fan. I remember her getting very excited as she watched wrestling matches on your TV when she was over.
Occasionally her grandson, Terry, would spend the night with her, and one summer, I think when I was about eight years old, Terry and I spent the night several times in a pup-tent in her back yard.
It was a scary thing, even in your friend’s grandma’s back yard to be alone all night in a pup tent, but it was even scarier, when the first night we were all alone out there, and we heard a huffling, snuffling, snorting noise at the door of the tent. I don’t know what kind of monster we thought had come to terrorize us, but it was revealed to be an elderly English bulldog wanting to be let in.
He came shuffling in like he belonged there, and lay down to sleep between our sleeping bags in the little pup tent. That first night, I remember, he gently chewed the plastic ear piece of my glasses. He didn’t destroy them, but just gently gnawed on them, leaving small indentations from his teeth there.
It was such a comfort to have him there. It took away our fears, that first night alone in the yard.. We spent several other nights in the tent that summer, and that old bulldog showed up every time.
The strange thing is, as kids we knew every dog in the neighborhood better than the adults who lived in the houses around us, and we had no clue where that old English bulldog came from. We never saw him in the daytime or on any other occasions, but when we camped out.
To this day, I have such loving memories of sleeping with that old dog. I decided when I was out on my own, that I wanted an English bulldog. On Christmas Eve 1994 my wife and I brought home the first of our bulldogs. We named her Noel.
I just don’t know what to think. . . How did that dog find us? Where did he come from? And how was it that he knew that we were sleeping in that tent, and showed up the several times we slept out there? Thinking of this brings tears to my eyes as I type this today. . .
Thank You my Lord for watching over us. . .
<3
Dave
Comments