The story about a little dog.

I’ve just been told a wonderful real-life story I wish to share with you
in today’s post. It’s a story about a little dog – a little story that reflects
the great power of healing and love. It doesn't matter whether we’re talking
about human beings with varying backgrounds, or animals, or even plants:
The power of healing and love is the same power, and it continues to duplicate
itself in various and wonderful ways.


The story was told by a woman who took a long vacation trip with her
husband in Mexico a few years ago..

Here's her story:


The heat of the afternoon sun lies heavy over the still Mexican
countryside. The air shimmers, steak-hot over the earth, creating
a haze of vibrating heat that engulfs us. We’ve rolled down the car
windows as far as possible so we can get at least a little cooling
breeze as our car winds its way through an arid and burnout landscape,
desperately awaiting the unpredictable rain period.

Suddenly, we go by something – a little spectre crouched by the roadside
in the steaming heat. A second later, it’s out of sight.

”What was that?”

”I don’t know – a dog?”

”Then it must’ve been a puppy. It was so small.”

We don’t say anything more and put even more distance between us and
the little something by the road. An abandoned dog – not an unusual sight
here in the poorest of Mexico’s states We look at each other. And we suddenly
know that we have no choice.

We have to stop and turn around. It can’t be left to crouch there alone forever
– the little thing. Someone’s going to run it over!

This is really a little puppy – so little, it takes up less space than the palms
of my hands. And it’s sick – completely covered with scabs. Its pelt is almost
completely gone, replaced by itching sores and scabs. The little tyke squirms in
pain, too weak to protest when we sweep a hand towel around her and take her
with us in the car.

When the veterinarian in a nearby village sees the little bundle we’ve brought,
he only shakes his head. There’s nothing he can do. Such a little puppy,
dehydrated and sick. No, forget it.

Silent and determined we drive to the local pharmacy; buy scab-shampoo and penicillin.
We carefully wash the whimpering little whelp – wash her, administer medicine.

And after a few days, her little tail begins to wave when she sees us.
Her little puppy-stomach begins to round. The scabs drop off and leave place
for new fur to grow. We name her Chaplin because of the amusing way her little
hindquarters swing when she walks.

When we return to the vet to get her vaccinated, he’s completely taken aback.
Despite all, she’s recovered. Imagine that. He continues:

”But you must see that she’s sterilized. She’ll never be able to care for
her own litter; not when she herself has been abandoned. Her mother-instinct
has been lost."

Since we are about to return to Sweden after our year in Mexico, we leave Chaplin
in the care of our good friends. They promise to see that she is sterilized.

But sometime later, we receive a letter: “Chaplin has become a momma,” our friends
inform us. “We never got around to having her sterilized.” She has given birth to five
chubby, healthy puppies and taken good care of them. We look at each other in wonder.
How in the world? Did she really get through this, despite everything?”

And some years later, we got further news: ”Chaplin is once again a momma,” our
friends write – and enclose a photo. “She has adopted.” In the somewhat fuzzy picture,
Chaplin lies with two nursing, tiny kittens. She found them abandoned in a ditch and
carefully carried them home, one after the other, and now she’s raising them on her
own milk.

This little tyke whose mother-instinct was said to be lost.