On March 23 this year, the first day of the Hebrew month of Nisan, Beth and I rescued a kitten, about the size of a tiny fist, we found sitting under a tree beside a busy highway here in Beersheba. A crow, four or five times the size of the kitten, was pecking at it. We named him Nisan, and he is now ensconced as a permanent household member. Recently, I sent a photo of Nisan sleeping on a pillow in my wife’s kitchen chair to my Aunt Donna, my mother’s youngest sister. She replied with a story that I want to share with you. It’s about a dog named Shea and a miracle.
This story begins early one Saturday morning when my husband decided to wash our car and left the gate open. Our dog (Shea) decided he would take a stroll and managed to slip by without being noticed. That day we were busy doing our usual errands and visiting friends. That night at 10:30, my husband discovered Shea was missing and nowhere to be found in our ‘fenced’ backyard. We drove that night forever with a huge spotlight, looking for our pet. I lay in bed for about four hours (no sleep, of course), and as soon as it was daybreak, my search continued. Little did I know just how long and deep this search would be.
We must have driven out a tank of gas looking, and with each passing day, I became less hopeful. I was calling the local pounds every day, and on about the seventh day, I told a gentleman at one of the pounds that I was about to give up hope. He said to me, “Lady, don’t ever give up hope, ever.” The other three people that gave me hope were one of our neighbors when she assured me that she felt Shea was in the area, and my sister, who said she never felt that our dog was gone for good. The fourth, I will mention later.
The search continued, and I ran a lost ad in the Press; I posted three signs in our neighborhood (one right in front of our home with my cell phone number), printed flyers that my sister and I gave out door to door, called local vets and asked them to post a lost ad for me, called our Garden Club and asked if they would run a small ad in our newsletter, and of course cried and prayed every day for the return of our pet.
One day my sister asked me why I kept driving around looking and why didn’t I walk? Hmm…that began to seem like the thing to do, so I walked and walked and walked. I stopped and asked everyone I saw. People outside, joggers, walkers, the newspaper guy, our postal worker, I just would not give up! I kept thinking he was hurt somewhere and couldn’t get help. I began to think if only I found him dead, at least I would know what happened to him. It was the not knowing that kept me going day after day.
I started to worry about how long a dog could survive without any food or water. Then, one evening, we found a video recorder at the ballpark where we had been and made a phone call to someone we knew to inquire if it was theirs. It was not, but they thought they knew whom it belonged to and would make a phone call. In a short while, this nice-sounding lady called and was so thankful we had found her recorder. She spoke with my husband, got directions to our home, and said she would try and come by the next evening. My doorbell rang, and when I opened the door, this lady had an armful of flowers for us, and I invited her in. As we talked, she told me she was a veterinarian (can you imagine that?). I began to tell her of our long search for Shea and asked her how long a dog could go without food or water (this was around day 8). This is the fourth person who had given me hope when she said, “Three weeks with just water!”
Every day I opened our gate in hopes our pet would return home. I think my husband was dealing with his own guilt of leaving the gate open, and all the while, I just could not do anything but think of Shea and keep the faith that I would see him again. On the tenth morning, my cell phone was ringing, my hands trembled as I tried to get it from my purse, and I had this feeling it was about my dog. This man said to me, “Lady, I think I have your dog.” As I began to describe Shea to him, he said, “Yes, yes.” I was ready to get directions and head to his location to see if it was, in fact, our pet. When I asked him where he was, he said the name of our street, and I said, “We live on Brookline.” I could not understand what was going on. He finally asked me to just step outside, and he would be looking for me. In my pajamas, I ran out my front door, and this man was standing in the middle of our street with his cell phone, and our Shea was in his own yard!! I first ran and threw my arms around this man and was crying uncontrollably, thanking him all the while. I then walked over to Shea and put my hands on his back, and he lay down in the grass like, “Thank goodness, I am finally home.”
The man began to tell me the story of how he met our dog that morning as he was driving to work. He said he passed Shea and, in a brief moment, thought, “That dog is old and belongs to someone who cared for it for a long time.” He continued to drive and watch Shea from his mirror until he was out of sight, then the guilt overcame him, and he turned around and came back, parked his vehicle, and started following this dog. He decided after some time to call the pound, give them the location, and have them pick this dog up before something happened to him. He said the dog just kept walking and walking alongside the street. He was on the cell again with the pound giving him his location for the pick-up. As he hung up, he asked God to just give him something–a sign, anything–and guess what? There on the light pole in front of our home was one of the three small signs that I had posted with my cell phone number.
In two more minutes, Shea would have been inside the gate and home, but I knew this man had guided him to safety since there are a couple of busy streets in our neighborhood he had to have crossed. The man had followed Shea for a while but had no idea where or what direction he had actually come from. I offered him a reward, but he just would not take it, saying the look on my face was reward enough for him and mentioned he had a young daughter and he couldn’t wait to tell her about Shea. I offered to drive him to the location of his vehicle when he had first started to follow Shea, but he said, “No, I will be fine.” I then apologized for his being late for work. (At this time, I asked where he worked). When he walked away from me, he crossed the street and took my sign from the post and said he was keeping it for a souvenir, and walked away, calling the pound back to cancel his call.
About a week later, my husband and I went to the mall and bought a gift certificate and took it to him at his workplace and asked him to please take it and buy something for his little girl. I introduced this kind man to my husband, and then we said goodbye (but never to forget).
Oh, by the way, did I mention this was a miracle that brought our dog home? Yes, a true miracle. Why? Because Shea has arthritis, he is thirteen years old, blind, and deaf. Thanks to all who helped us look for Shea and who called us from the lost ad in the Press saying they saw a dog that fit our description (but to no avail). He was thin and dehydrated, but after drinking a full bowl of water for seven days and eating two meals a day, he is back and happy to be safe.
Shea was on a mission that morning, and it was a popular belief by all that he was following the scent from his family when we walked and walked in search of him up and down so many streets.
Shea lived two years after the end of the events told in this story. He died surrounded by the love of his family.
All the best,
Gershon
Gershon Ben-Avraham 