F.R.O.G.

I’d like to introduce you to a friend of mine. Everyone who has met him has asked for further details, and it does make for a good story. So, to quote Al Pacino, “Say hello to my little friend!”

I met “Señor F.R.O.G.” in November 2007 while preparing for my work’s annual Chili Supper & Silent Auction. He was a mixed breed puppy that was donated for the fundraiser. His sister found a home by the evening's end, but the bidding for this little guy fell through. After cleaning up from the event, I had no choice but to take him home for the night, planning to return him to his previous home the next day. That’s when the problems began.

We already had two dogs, our older girl “Chix”, and hubby’s 6 month old mini Dachshund named “D’Artagnan”. Chix has seen other pet siblings come and go, and was unimpressed. Dart, on the other hand, thought I had brought this puppy home just for his own personal pleasure. They bonded immediately, like brothers from another mother.

Then there was the problem of housetraining another puppy. Dart was a challenge, but F.R.O.G. was a good boy from the start. He was happy to sleep in his doggy crate. He seemed smart, obedient, happy to please. And he was too darn cute for his own good. A “chick magnet”, hubby says.

My long-suffering husband offered that maybe F.R.O.G. could stay for the weekend, just to see what he was like. And he conceded that since my cat was very old, and probably not long for this world, that maybe God had brought F.R.O.G. into our lives at just the right time. Mind you, this didn’t mean that hubby liked or really approved of this puppy, but it did mean that F.R.O.G. got to stay.

And then there was the matter of the name. Yes I know Señor Frog’s is a popular tourist bar chain in Mexico. I may (or may not!) admit to dragging my own mother there once. But, really, that’s not where it came from. Did I mention that this puppy always plopped down with his hind legs stretched straight out like a frog? (He still does that to this day.) The puppy’s birth family is of Hispanic descent, and Señor is a Spanish name for Lord. I had recently learned of the acronym F.R.O.G. = Fully Rely On God. And so it all combined and stuck.

Just a couple weeks after this event, my office was destroyed by arson. My life became crazy trying to rebuild our organization and Señor F.R.O.G. often accompanied me as I worked on a new office. I found that every time I called my new puppy’s name, God was gently reminding me to Fully Rely On HIM!

It’s now two years later. The dog named F.R.O.G. is my near constant companion, a furry friend who daily reminds me of God’s love and presence in my life. I hope you can meet him someday!

The Hatching

On Friday I was blessed to watch one of God’s miracles, the hatching of an egg. While feeding my white doves (which are actually white homing pigeons), I checked my pair that was nesting, and noticed that one of their eggs had hatched overnight. Then I saw that their other egg was hatching right then.

A baby bird begins its journey out of the egg by pecking holes around the perimeter of the egg, and yes, they really do break in half much like a plastic Easter egg! I watched, fascinated, as this break in the egg grew wider, then it split apart.

The baby was now nestled in one half of the egg and started struggling to get out. It wiggled around until its bottom cleared the eggshell, and collapsed in exhaustion under the protective feathers of the mama bird.

Parent birds have no choice but to anxiously watch and wait as their little ones are in this process. They are not always willing to let a human have such a ringside seat, so I felt honored to be able to watch and take photos. A few times the mama bird told me my camera phone wasn’t welcome to come any closer, but I was able to get some neat photos anyway. (Click on the above photos to enlarge them.)

After a much needed rest, the baby dove was able to lift its tiny head and start poking around the mother’s feathers. I thought it interesting that although birds cannot feed their young in the manner which mammals do, their young still snuggle to their parent’s breast.

Pigeons are generally very attentive parents. Both parents produce a substance called “pigeon milk” which they will feed to their babies for the first week or two of life. It is produced in their crops (bird talk for stomach), and the babies push their beaks into their parents' mouths to receive the food.

The babies will double their weight everyday for the first week, growing very quickly, until they look just like their parents at only four weeks of age. By six weeks they will be flying around with their flock, ready to begin their own lives.

Thank you for allowing me to share this special event with you. I love watching my birds and their babies, and they always remind me of this verse: “He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge;” Psalm 91:4

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Autumn Rain

I awakened to the sound of rain tapping out a wet melody upon my roof this morning. It has turned out to be a very gray kind of day. And chilly. We have enjoyed a lovely “Indian Summer” in Colorado this year, but I know it can’t stay that way forever. Maybe this is the beginning of the end. The real end of summer. We had a “freeze warning” issued for last night, but I had already brought in the plants I wanted to save from the deck.

The trees in our area are just starting their transformation into their fall foliage, however the higher mountains are awash in glorious autumn colors. Red, gold, orange, yellow … all look beautiful against the faded grass and dark green conifers.

One week ago I was attending a conference in Buena Vista, CO. It was a beautiful place, nestled among a string of mountain peaks that we call “14ers”, meaning they are over 14,000 feet. Last Sunday there was a fresh dusting of snow upon those peaks, leaving them looking like God had sprinkled them with powdered sugar.

I know that God will soon decorate the mountains surrounding my valley similarly. And as usual, being a “stranded beach bunny”, I will mourn summer’s passing. So for today, I will enjoy this autumn rain. I will focus on the fact that is it bringing much needed moisture to our lawns and pastures, and lessening the wildfire risk. I will choose to enjoy this season, this day in my life.

Rain In Me

Yesterday I had the pleasure of watching our grandson play in a puddle. He is almost two, and was happily stomping his little blue-clog-clad feet in the water. It reminded me of myself at that age. My rainy day play was immortalized by a newspaper photographer who happened along to snap this photo of me with my raincoat and umbrella.

On rainy days I often think of a favorite song by Dennis Jernigan … “Rain (Reign) In Me”. Many don’t know it because it is older, and not on Christian radio now, but the words are as relevant now as the day they were written. Allow me to share them with you … maybe they will become your prayer, as they have mine.

I need Your presence Lord
Like a desert needs a great downpour
I need Your presence Lord
Like the thirsty need the rain
I need to be with You
Like a walk in rain soaked through and through
For You bring peace it's true
Like the sound of falling rain

Rain Your life on me Almighty God
Rain on me and take me where You are
Rain in me and wash me white as snow
Rain in me my Father, flood my soul
Rain in me

You come surprising me
Like a sudden rain come over me
But that's alright You see
Lord I do enjoy the rain
My Father fall on me
With Your sweet refreshing melody
Raindrops of love on me
Like the sound of falling rain

Puddles

I’ll be upfront and honest about this … today’s thoughts aren’t all my own. I heard a story last week, and it has been ruminating in my brain ever since.

Maybe it resonated with me in a special way because I like ducks. We used to keep ducks, and I have some funny and memorable stories of my own. But those are for another time.

This particular story goes accordingly: a lady was walking her dogs when she came across some ducks playing in a puddle, just having a grand old time. However, very near to this puddle was a beautiful pond, with lots more room for the ducks to enjoy. That is, IF they could see beyond their puddle to the pond.

After hearing this story, several of us were sharing thoughts about it. A friend told us of some ducks she knew of that would run to their little puddle-pond whenever danger threatened. Good plan, except that their puddle-pond was only 6 inches deep, and the coyotes in their area did get some of them because of that fact.

I’ve been thinking about my own life in my puddle. I’ve been swimming around in it for quite awhile and I’m pretty comfortable here. But is it deep enough to sustain me when danger comes? Also, like most puddles, it’s not very big, and dirties quickly with all the crap in my life.

I need to look for the bigger pond. Maybe it’s just around the corner. Or maybe it’s even within sight distance now, if I would stand on my tippy toes to look. I’m praying God will show me what bigger pond to set my sights upon. Maybe it will be the ocean. Maybe not. As long as I am continuing to follow Him, I’ll end up right in the pond He wants me to be in.