My husband loves to play the good news/bad news game. "I have some good news and some bad news," he will frequently say. In fact he likes it so much that he will often make things up so that he can make me play it with him. I normally choose to get the bad news first. That way, the blow of the bad news seems softened by whatever positive thing might be going on. I truly do try to find the positive side of most things, but at times it takes some effort. One of my favorite sayings is a paraphrase of something Abraham Lincoln said, "You can be upset that a rosebush has thorns, or delighted that a thorn bush has roses." Generally, I choose to be delighted.
Sometimes Brian will try to soften the blow of bad news by making up something even worse to tell me first. Today, as we were driving home from church he said, "I did something today that you're not going to be very happy about."
Steeling myself, determined that I wasn't going to freak out, I said, "And what is that?"
"I invited the missionaries to come over for lunch. They will be at our house in about 15 minutes."
Thoughts of my filthy house and empty larder swirled downward in my mind like toilet water. But hey, they're hungry young men, they'll be grateful for a peanut butter sandwich they don't have to fix themselves, right? I hope neither of them are allergic to peanuts.
Then Brian said, "Not really, but I volunteered to go to girls' camp this week as one of the priesthood leaders."
Is that all? He seems to be gone every weekend on some Boy Scout activity or another and just got back from a week-long pack-packing trip with the scouts, but how can I possibly be upset that he is willing to serve in the church? I'm thankful that as a school teacher he has the time, and is willing to help where he is needed.
So, I have some good news and some bad news.
The bad news is that a week ago yesterday both of our dogs somehow got out of our house, during the hours of 3:30 AM and 6:30 AM, and ran off. The first day that they were gone the temperature got up to 114 degrees. We spent the day driving around looking for them, calling Animal Control, and praying. The beagle, Ranger, has a tag on his collar with my phone number on it, but Cassie, an English setter, had her tag fall off. They would be fine if they stuck together, but Cassie can outrun Ranger by a mile.
The day served to remind me what an emotional eater I am. It was tough to think about anything other than our poor dogs out in the heat. I found myself continually wandering into the kitchen to look though the refrigerator and cabinets for something to munch on. I stayed within my points, but it was tough.
Heartbreakingly, we haven't found Cassie. We have spent hours at the animal shelters, hanging fliers on neighborhood mailboxes, lamp posts, and pet stores, and visiting veterinarians in the hopes that someone might have found her and taken her to get checked. As always, not knowing is the worst. The thought of her wandering around thirsty and hurt in this heat is more than I can bear. I honestly don't think I've ever seen Brian this heartbroken before. I'm quite positive that he would never put as much time and effort into finding me as he has his dog. Isaac has cried himself to sleep several nights, and I feel like crying with him.
The good news is that the following morning, at 3:00 AM, Clark heard Ranger barking at our front door. He has been treated like the prodigal son since his return. I've noticed that his food bowl is always full. I think that's because everyone keeps feeding him from their plates, making his own food inconsequential. People are fighting over who gets to sleep with him. We are all so grateful to have him back.
No comments:
Post a Comment