Free Range Dogs

Before my two fishermen angels left, they whistled for our dogs, Dixie Mae and Oliver, who galloped home from their hiding places in the woods. I handed the guys a roll of duct tape and a trash bag and asked, "Will you please patch up my car window?"

"Yes, ma'am," they smiled and off they went.

I turned to my counter top and miraculously my address book fell open to our insurance company's number. I think I was the first to call them and the first to get an adjuster out to look at the damage. What a blessing, since we were scheduled to move north in a two months. My eyes then fell on the business card of a huge black lumberman who I knew would come help with the clean-up.

He knew nothing of the tornado, but arrived quickly, and as the rain was still falling, climbed on the roof and spread out a tarp I dug out of the shed, holding it in place with a huge branch he pulled up and out of Peter's roof.

As we were doing that, the big yellow school bus creaked to a stop, and amidst flashing cell phones, our boys emerged. Ducking under the wires, they made their way, wide-eyed, up the driveway. They had been hunkered down in a hallway as the tornado brushed by their Middle School.

Maggie arrived next in her little red Focus, which had had to wind its way home passed many damaged houses and downed trees around Beth Israel's preschool. What a blessed relief to be all together.

He gives and takes away. Blessed be the Name of the Lord.

With the fences crushed, the dogs, once they were assured we were all safe, began exercising their new freedom, and happily trotted around the neighborhood. Free-spirited for the past month, they have dashed in and out of our backyard, a luxury they will enjoy until Monday when the fencing men come.

Blessed be the Name of the Lord.