THE ANGEL By Karl Hasslinger Many years ago, at a time when I felt anger and pain due to the loss of a child, my life was changed by the appearance of an angel. This was not the kind of angel we see in movies; she did not fly, or appear out of thin air. In fact, she did not come to me at all - I was called to her. One weekend, while taking a ride, we came upon a sign for the local humane society. With the thought that perhaps we could find a playmate for our rambunctious German Shepherd, we drove up to the place and went in. Never having been at an animal shelter, I remember being surprised by all the noise and confusion. The shelter was relatively small with a line of cages along the walls, leading to a door at the end of the building. The attendant told us we were free to look around and to be sure and ask if we had any questions. We strolled down the line of cages, seeing all kinds of animals rejected by their former human owners for a variety of reasons. Some were large and unruly, some had become a financial burden, and some were just plain unwanted. Near the end of the line, there was a cage with several small puppies. They were all wet, hair matted down from a recent bath intended to kill the fleas that infested their tiny bodies. In the last cage on the end, was a lone dog. She too was wet, and in fact was part of the litter in the previous cage. She was alone possibly because her flea infestation was worse. Looking at this puppy, I could only imagine the fear that overtook the defenseless creature, recently separated from both her mother and her siblings. Only a few weeks old, she was wet, afraid and alone. Worse yet, she had no one to comfort and love her. As we approached her cage, the tiny dog seemed to lose her fear, and approached us. She stood up on the cage door and beckoned us closer. She seemed less than beautiful due to her wet, disheveled coat, but there was something in her eyes and facial expressions that drew us to her. We touched her through the cage and she responded to our gesture of affection. For some reason however, we backed away. Perhaps because we were not really over the loss of our child and were afraid of becoming involved in a loving but tenuous relationship, or because we were afraid to take on a pet that looked so unappealing as she did at the time. The attendant noted our actions and came over to ask if we would be interested in adopting the little dog in the end cage. We replied in an uncertain tone, stating that perhaps we should think it over and come back some other day. The attendant pointed out that any other day but today would be too late, because that dog was at the end of the line; if not adopted that day, she would be destroyed. She explained that the state had limited resources and could not keep animals for extended periods. With that, our hearts sank. We were faced with a dilemma. We were strangely drawn to the little dog, but were also hesitant to commit our love to her. While we stood there looking at each other in a way only husband and wife can do, the little dog stood again at her cage door and called to us. My wife broke down in tears, and we instantly decided that we could not leave her to face almost certain death. We took the little dog home and named her Muffin for reasons that escape me now. She immediately, became an integral part of our lives. Accepted by our huge German Shepherd, she established herself as an "equal" in the household and even demanded certain rights. For instance, she claimed the right to snuggle with her adopted parents. That meant sitting in laps while we watched TV or talked, and sleeping in our bed. It was clear from the start that Muffin loved us and never wanted to be far from us. That trait would define her behavior for the rest of her life. Despite some early set backs associated with housebreaking, Muffin became a much beloved pet. The love she gave us with her looks, gestures and endearing sounds by far outweighed the work and effort it took for us to feed, walk and take care of her. We loved to hold and hug her and make sure she was safe and secure, especially at night when she would curl up at our feet in bed. Muffin had become a surrogate child, and was the focal point of our maternal and paternal instincts. When our German Shepherd died suddenly, our love for Muffin and the affection we smothered her with, grew ten fold. Over the next seventeen and a half years, Muffin obtained "family-member" status with friends and relatives who came to understand her special meaning to us. Muffin often accompanied us on trips and was a welcome guest in hotels, motels and private homes. She traveled extensively, making trips from Maine to Florida. A veteran Navy Dog, she moved with us many times and occupied seven different houses. Although Muffin slowed down in her later years and could no longer deal with long walks or daunting stairways, she remained healthy almost all her life. In her final year however, she had trouble walking and required increasing help from us to go about her daily routine. Getting up was her biggest problem; sometimes she just couldn't find her footing and would have to ask for a little assistance. After her 17th birthday however things changed quickly and we could no longer avoid thinking about her mortality. It was during that time when I realized what a wonderful gift we had been given. For whatever his reasons, God chose not to bless us with children. Try as we might, it was not to be. However, after the loss of our second child, he sent an angel in the form of a small dog to comfort us and bring us some of the joys and worries one would experience with a child. Despite all odds, including several surgeries Muffin defied statistics and lived well past the average 14 year life span for her breed. She lived to the point where in the fall of the 17th year, a human child would likely go off to college, never to live at home again. It was at that time, in the Fall after her 17th year that God recalled his angel, having done his bidding well, bringing great comfort and joy to two people who desperately needed it. Looking back, it is easier to see how the angel appeared as a small dog, alone in a cage, separated from her siblings, calling out to us for what only she and God knew that day: that we needed her more than she needed us. I thank God each day for the gift of the angel that was our child for so long. Often in church, we are admonished to be "on watch," because we never know when the Master will return. It is similarly fitting to be "on watch" for God's angels, because we never know when or in what form they will appear, guiding and comforting us in our struggle through life.