An older woman in my church everyone just calls “Grandma” has been absent the last two Sundays. A couple weeks ago someone mentioned she was sick, so after she didn’t show up at church yesterday, I decided to go visit her.
Whistling gaily, I climbed the hill to her house. This is when terror struck. Well, actually six terriers. They all came running at me with the express purpose of chomping my ankles off. Sure, there were a lot of them, but I knew I could kick them away to save my life, if need be. Then came a growl and a deep bark. I slowly raised my head from the throngs of yappy dogs to see a huge German shepherd bounding towards me.
Now before you bite your nails or pee in your pants in anxiety, I didn’t die. There was no blood loss. No pain. For while I was contemplating whether to climb a tree or jump onto a large object, the smallest, sweetest woman you can imagine saved my life by calling off the dogs.
Heart still pounding, I chatted with this woman for a few minutes (she’s Grandma’s housekeeper) till Grandma heard me outside and invited me in with a booming voice. “MONDROSOA!” Forty-five minutes of very animated conversation later, I said I needed to go home. On my way out, she responded as excitedly to my passing comment of “that’s a pretty red flower” as she did to my entire visit, quickly calling to her housekeeper “bring the shears!” Snipping away, she cut some flowers out of her garden to make me a bouquet. Which is now on my kitchen table.
As I turned to leave (again), Grandma wrapped her arm around my waist in a gesture of true friendship and started walking me down the hill. I returned the gesture, wrapping my arm around her, in friendship, yes, but mainly so the German shepherd wouldn’t eat me on my way out.
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