As much as Bojangles became a recognized, needed member of the family, Wendy instantly found a designated place in our hearts, also. After losing Bo, we mourned for a good while, and Craig even wondered if we should get another dog. But I’d hear Jay come home from work late in the evening, crying as he walked in the door and was greeted only by the silence of an empty kitchen. Craig and I had gone to bed. And there was no dog wiggling delightedly to greet him. “We’re a dog family,” I insisted to Craig, and so Jay and I—after reading about a litter of black Labs for sale out in the country—decided to “go look at the pups.” If ever there was a misnomer….
The farm was picture-book classic: fencing around a large barn, farmhouse, scattered sheds, a few cattle, chickens, horses. As Jay and I walked towards the house, the litter of ten (or was it twelve? It was a bunch!) came racing out to meet us, tumbling every which way in the grass. They were anything but coordinated, but oh, so adorable! One immediately latched onto the laces of Jay’s sneakers, a girl. And that was all it took.
The story goes that, when I was pregnant with Jay (and this was before ultra-sounds revealed the sex of your unborn child), Craig was insistent that our second child would be a girl. I loved the sound of Wendy Williford, so unfortunately, Jay was called Wendy for about nine months, creating a bit of a scramble to pick out a boy’s name at his arrival on May 8. I couldn’t believe it when the owner of the litter told us that the pups were just about 8 weeks old, having been born on…wait for it…May the 8th. Well, that instantly said to me that the pup’s name was a given: Now I had my Wendy who was born on May 8. From that first celebration, Jay was overjoyed to share his birthday with Wendy. Well, maybe not so much, but that didn’t dampen his love for our new arrival one bit.
Wendy was our first female dog, so she was often referred to as Robb and Jay’s “little sister.” They always teased that a real little sister would’ve been spoiled rotten, so the accusation by association was that Wendy was spoiled, too. But as I argued back—that wasn’t true in any form. Because in the first place, Wendy was actually…perfect. She took to all forms of her training in record time; I can’t remember anything that she chewed on and therefore, damaged; and teaching her to stay away from anything off-limits was accomplished with an old Ovaltine can filled with nails and bolts. All I had to do was shake that can, and the loud noise was enough to stop her in her tracks. (Remind me later to tell you how effective that was with Maddy, who was of a differing, um, temperament. Entirely.) The more evidence I gave that she was perfect, the more it irritated the guys, and the more I teased about how perfect she was.
Queue the first trip we took when we needed to board Wendy: I found a kennel that was close by, and the owner was a personable and competent woman who took to our sweet girl instantly. After our trip and it was time to pick her up, I was the only one who could drive to the kennel that next morning. So, though I have no witnesses (I should’ve thought to have the owner write out her testimony and sign it), when I asked the kennel owner how Wendy did, her reply was, “She was PERFECT!” Cross my heart—she really said that! To this day, I don’t think Jay believes me, but it is 100% factual.
Just between us? Wendy wasn’t actually perfect, but she smoothed any rough edges by being a gentle soul, one who clearly wanted to please, and a dog who gave us all a level of devoted love that made each of us feel…well, special, I suppose. And worthy to be loved like that.
The takeaway for you leaders? A wise Lutheran pastor who mentored the parish’s younger pastors said he gives every novice the same advice: You want to be loved to a level of near adoration by your congregants? Obeyed without question and supportively doted on? Get a Labrador retriever.
Guaranteed, you and your congregation (or student body/board/staff/administration) will be more content!