Faithful At All Cost

Living in a remote forest at the northern edge of Canada, Trapper John made his closest friendship with his faithful German shepherd, Duke.  Every few days he and Duke would take the overnight trek to check the traps.  Selling animal pelts at the trading post in the distant town sustained their simple life.  The two had shared each other's company for years.  The dog loved the man, often protecting him from wild animals during their all-night treks to check the traps.  Duke even seemed to listen attentively to Trapper John share his feelings as he sat by the campfire.

On one trip into town, Trapper John met a young woman who was new in town and worked at the trading post.  She immediately caught his attention and they began seeing each other as he made more frequent trips into town.  That spring they got married.

Their first born was born the following winter--but tragedy accompanied that ocassion.  Trapper John's wife died as she gave birth to their beautiful daughter.  Broken-hearted, he had no choice but to take his baby girl into town to live with a kind family willing to take care of her until she was old enough to return to the cabin.

She was almost a year old when Trapper John brought her back to his cabin in the woods.  Now faced with the challenge of raising a child while sustaining their existence with trapping, he would leave Duke with his sleeping baby during the night while he check on his traps.  He knew that his trusted dog would protect his baby if she was in any danger.

But on one such trip, tragedy struck again.  Returning home early in the morning after checking his traps, John came to the top of the hill overlooking his cabin.  His heart pounded wildly when he noticed the front door do the cabin pushed open.  Throwing down his pelts, he raced to the open door to check on his daughter.

As he entered the cabin, he saw the baby's little bed covered with blood.  He then caught sight of Duke cowering in the corner, covered with blood.  Enraged, John cocked his rifle and pointed it directly at Duke.

"You killed my baby!  You killed my baby!" he shouted at the dog.  In the midst of John's anguished roar, he heard a baby's cry from under the bloodied blanket.  John, his finger on the trigger and his dog in the gunsight, turned his head toward that cry--and with a sweep of his hand, uncovered his unharmed baby.  It was only then that he saw the dead bobcat behind his daughter's bed.  In a heartbreaking moment of understanding, he realized that he almost killed the one who had saved his baby's life.

- Dan Webster, quoted by Wayne Rice in Still More Hot Illustrations for Youth Talks (Christian Literature Cruaade, 1999)

Resistant to Cure? Not Really.

Every day, at exactly the same time, Margaret would go to the bathroom cabinet, open it, and take out a huge bottle of castor oil. Then she would head to the kitchen to get a tablespoon. At the sound of the drawer opening and the silverware rattling, Patches, her Yorkshire terrier, would run and hide — sometimes under the bed, at other times in the bathtub or behind Margaret’s recliner.

Someone had convinced Margaret that Patches would have strong teeth, a beautiful coat, and a long life if she gave him a spoonful of castor oil every day. So, as an act of love every twenty-four hours, she cornered Patches, pinned him down, pried open his mouth, and poured a tablespoon of castor oil down his little doggie throat. Neither Patches nor Margaret enjoyed their daily wrestling match.

Then one day, in the middle of their battle royal, with one sideways kick, Patches sent the dreaded bottle of castor oil flying across the kitchen floor. It was a momentary victory for the canine, as Margaret let him go so she could run to the pantry and grab a towel to clean up the mess.

When Margaret got back, she was utterly shocked. There was Patches licking up the spilled castor oil with a look of satisfaction only a dog can make. Margaret began to laugh uncontrollably. In one moment, it all made sense. Patches liked castor oil. He just hated being pinned down and having it poured down his throat.

 — Kevin G. Harney, 
Seismic Shifts (Zondervan, 2005)