My Stella-bella had a bad day yesterday. Her nose was warm and dry, her belly swollen, her walk--when she walked--a bit unstable. All of those would have been symptoms enough to let us know that she was sick, but I didn't feel really worried until one other symptom popped up.
She wouldn't leave my side. Or my feet. Or the room.
Stella, you see, is not a clingy dog. She likes to be tucked into a dark corner, or stretched out on an empty bed. After all these years, she still endures a scratch on the head with all the enthusiasm as a kiss from your weird great-aunt at Christmas. But yesterday, she wove in and out of my feet as I walked from room to room, and she sat on my feet when I sat. She propped herself up against my while I was blow-drying my hair.
Mikey diagnosed it as tummy troubles (maybe she got a bit more macaroni-and-cheese than she should have), and that eased my mind. In fact, though I hated the fact that she was sick, I rather enjoyed her nearness. For those few hours, she was a bit of the dog I wished she could always be--calm, affectionate, dependent. But as for me, it is good to be near God. I have made the Sovereign Lord my refuge. (Psalm 73:27)
I love to find refuge in the Lord, to curl up in His love and promises when I am hurting--and He is always there--but I need to remember, too, to seek Him when everything seems to be just fine.
Speaking of "just fine," by the afternoon, Stella was. Turns out it was just a little gas, and after a smelly confirmation of the diagnosis, she was off--curled up under the computer desk. Out of reach. I loved the fact that she felt better, but I missed her.