Protector of the House

We have a dog.

I used to say, "I'm not a dog person."  In fact, I've had a cat (or two) all my life and as far back as I can remember.  However, I would never say, "I'm a cat person."  That just sounds creepy.  But secretly, I love cats.  I love that they are soft and clean themselves and are for the most part, independent.  It is what I wish for my children.  And my husband.  My husband isn't even a "pet person", which I think is a tragedy in itself.  He never so much as even had a gerbil or a fish...or for that matter, even a turtle.  I think every child should have a pet, lest they start collecting rocks and talking to them as if they understand.  That's how people become crazy and end up in asylums.  All because they never had a little pet that they could love and that would love them back.

After losing two cats at this address in less than two years, I began to re-think having a cat.  In this neighborhood, I might as well be a murderer or at least a conspirator to murder, what with the way cats mysteriously disappear and all.  Hungry coyotes view them as a snack pack in the purest sense of the phrase.

Last April, my daughter was taking a walk down our street with a friend from out of town.  They came home with a dog.

I saw that dog, a handsome little thing, all neatly groomed and happy.  The kids immediately all wanted to take turns holding him, and he just let them.  They were all in his face being completely obnoxious, and he just licked them.  We kept him around all that day.  He didn't beg at the table, was obviously leash trained, and clearly had once belonged to someone.  I sent my daughter back down the street to find out where this dog lived.  Another neighbor told us what he witnessed:  a blond haired woman in a white SUV tossed him out the passenger door in the cul-de-sac the night before.  What?  Who would do such a thing?

I guess it doesn't really matter.  What matters is that my sweet, tender-hearted daughter saw a dog, picked him up, and brought him home with every intent to keep and care for him.  Did I mention that I am not a dog person?

Three weeks prior to this event I had a dream, a dream so vivid and disturbing that I ventured to write it down in my journal.  In the dream, I was pregnant and gave birth to a baby boy.  (As a side note, I feel like our family is complete,  and I have no plans to become pregnant, nor can I, as things have been "taken care of" in that area.)  In the dream, I named my little boy, "Hammond".  Where did this name come from?  I know of no one who goes by this name, and yet this dream was very real.

The next morning, I typed "Hammond name meaning" into Google on my computer.  It means "Protector of the House."  Interesting, I thought.  Surely, I dreamed this dream for a reason.  And sure enough, three weeks later, here comes this little dog.  And aren't dogs the "protectors of the house?"

We call him Hammy; he's a five-pound Yorkshire Terrier.  He's the "cat" of the dog world.

Coincidence.  Or God's gift to us?  I'm choosing to thank God for this precious gift because every child should have a pet to care for and love, even if he is a little stinky.