It was a cold day on Thursday, December 16, 2010.
At 11:11 that morning, my dog was lifted up in prayer. Before his ice chip had a chance to melt, he earned his wings. And I was left on Earth to sew mine back on.
Nicodemus was gone.
The holiday season was upon us, and the last thing I could think about was being merry. It would take a miracle to hum Christmas carols, ‘deck the halls’, or hang up stockings this year. It was as if a grinch stole my existence, and was occupying whatever was left of my heart. An empty shell, it wasn’t me who watched as my veterinarian’s van drove away. Its rear lights blinked red, then faded away into two dots beneath the snow covered road.
It was quiet, and I was alone.
Stunned, I grabbed the car keys, and drove aimlessly from our house, once called “home.”
Suddenly, all familiarity had vanished. The medicine bottles and baby food syringes remained, but my soul had disappeared. I couldn’t help my dog anymore, so I didn’t know what to do with myself. Lost and in a daze, I was about to fall apart.
Instead, I caught a glimpse of Azella’s desolate eyes, and realized I had to be strong for her.
I rescued my Husky/German Shepherd off the highway in the midst of a fierce 2003 Michigan snow blizzard. It took Azella awhile to share her space, let alone keep within our fence lines, but she gradually adopted Nicodemus (lovingly known as ‘Nica’) as if he was her own.
As time pasted, both dogs became inseparable. Together, they grew young at heart. Nicodemus soon became the one dog she would share cookies with. She would drop her biscuit, look at me, then nudge it closer towards Nicodemus. Blind and sweet, our stress-induced diabetic dog seemed gracious for her precious gesture.
For years, Azella had a purpose. Her purpose was a black and white Border Collie, named
Nicodemus. Like the puppy she never had, he was her boy.
Tears hadn’t even caught up to my emotions as we appeared at the dog park. For the first time, everyone’s favorite friend was not hobbling along beside us. Here we were, at the place we knew so well, and neither of us had a clue what to do with ourselves.
I looked up at the sky, and Azella looked down in the snow. Waiting her turn to lead the sleigh, Azella, my 'Snow-Nose' Husky, searched for her next holiday miracle to arrive...
I always speculated that Nicodemus would be behind the master plan. That, when he approached Heaven, he would send me a package of joy; a Gift to treasure—a promise, to keep me happy again, until we were reunited. Though it sounded good in theory, such a promise never happened to me.
Devlin, our Smooth Coat Border Collie, arrived just in time. His Momma was saved in Kentucky, and he was born as an emergency c-section baby in Michigan. Devlin presented himself the
exact week Nicodemus fell ill. Ironically, I was not aware of this fact until after we adopted him.
Bottle fed and properly nurtured by North Star Border Collie Rescue, I am convinced Devlin is our gift. He was put on this
Universe to bring happiness. And, if you believe in miracles—he was sent just for us from
Today is a cold day too. But, my heart is warm...
To my surprise, I recently discovered Azella sharing her cookie with Devin. She has a purpose once more. Her purpose is a black and white Border Collie, named Devlin.
For that, I am happy—again.
Expect a Miracle this holiday season.
If you lost hope for miracles, we encourage you to seek out the gift that is presented to you here. Even if you are unaware that it is a gift, believe that the message is intended just for you. You will soon understand its purpose when you are ready to adopt your own Gift. (Please share your story with us.)
Christina Bournias resides in Michigan with her 3-pack; three new beautiful adopted miracles. As her “Angelwriter”, Nicodemus (1997-2010) is the wisdom behind the stories she shares. Christina champions the magnitude of building the bond between a dog and their person(s) by means of respectful communication and enduring admiration.
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November, 2012: American Pet Magazine | V1 Issue4, Page 10,11