Back in March 2009, James and I were driving back to our home in Mason County with our then-only rescue dog, Betsy, when we saw a little black dog trotting along the side of the rural road with no house anywhere nearby. We pulled over, and right away another car that had been stopped at the same place revved up and drove away quickly. We opened our car doors, and James called out to the little guy, "Here doggy, c'mon doggy," but he turned around and ran away, clearly terrified. Just then Betsy barked from the back of our car, just twice. It really sounded like a greeting, and she was wagging her tail. The little dog stopped, turned around and looked back, then ran full speed to our car and leaped in and up onto my lap! I guess Betsy was saying, "Don't worry, these folks are ok."

We were naive enough to think the little dog was lost, so we spent the next couple days knocking on doors up and down the road looking for his people. Finally it dawned on us that in fact he had been "dumped" on our road and it was up to us to be his people. The vet said he’s a chiweenie (half chihuahua and half dachshund). He's black and tan, with a tiny cute head and buggy eyes, plus short legs and a looooong body. He was just ten pounds and at least five or six years old at the time. His ears were infected with botfly bites, and he was skinny but otherwise healthy. We named him “Big John” because he looked broad at the shoulder and narrow at the hip, like the miner in the old song. And he became part of our family!

He is at least fifteen or sixteen now—a perfect little lap-sitting dog, best friends with Betsy, and a joy who came unexpectedly to us, thanks to Betsy’s encouragement!