The Lady and the Dog I Did Not Like

I saw her stumbling along at the side of the road trying to carry four grocery bags from Turtle Creek Crossing grocery store as I started home from missionary prayer meeting in Mission Monday evening. The store was a mile out of town, and this middle-aged looking Rosebud lady had a ways to go regardless where she lived--especially with four heavy bags.

I am not in the habit of picking people up around here unless something stands out to me and I believe it safe to do, but this one hit me right between the eyes. I did some mental calculating--how much room in the Honda (plenty), how many people riding with me already (zero), and how far I might have to take her (likely not far if she was already walking). I turned around at the store parking lot entrance and drove back, coming up across from her just as she stopped hobbling to rest a bit. That is when I really noticed that she was not alone. She had a dog with her! 

As I pulled over on the shoulder on my side of the road, the woman instantly noticed, gathered energy, and hastened to cross the road toward me, dog following her, I was sure.
DOG. 

Oh, no! I would have to let the dog into the car, too--with all its possible fleas, lice, mange, scabies, parasites--I mean, who knows what even the best and most beloved of dogs have when they are trotting down the road?

The button on my side of the car operated the passenger window, and down it slid. 

"Do you need a ride?" I called.

"Are you letting me ride?" she asked in disbelief.

"Where do you need to go?" I asked. 

"Just down there to the first road to the right," she said. 

I invited her to pile her bags into the car, which she did, seating herself then, saying  "I need to have surgery on my feet."

No wonder she had been hobbling.

And then I said something about the dog, I can't remember what.

The lady patted her lap and got the dog to jump in on her lap. 

"Do you like dogs?" she asked, brightly, hopefully. Apparently what I said had given her that impression.

Oh, no! Now what could I say? 

"Of course!" would be easy to say, but not honest. 

"It's okay," I said, hastily changing the subject as the dog turned itself around and settled on its owner's lap, careful not be facing the stranger in the driver seat. "Tell me where to go!"

"Straight down there to the first road to the right," she said. "My mom lives there and I'm taking care of her. I have a truck, and my brother is coming in this week. I hope he can fix my truck."

As we pulled into the place where she directed, I invited her to church, carefully telling her how to get there, just on the other side of Mission, and the street name. She seemed to picture where I was telling her. I told her service was at 6:00 in the evening and supper was served afterward.

And then we said goodbye, and I wished her a good evening. Seeing that the dog was safely out of the way, I backed up and started home. 

I thought about how after the main prayer time, I had been feeling rather low physically (wondering if I should have tried to drive myself to missionary prayer meeting so soon after surgery) and suddenly there had been this sense that I was not to try to manage to stay any longer, but get myself home to rest.

Normally, I don't just up and skip out before the end of a meeting or service, but something was telling me to go, and I went.

Was it not so much about my own health and strength, but about a lady with a dog, four heavy grocery bags, hurting feet, and a hungry heart by the side of the road?

I don't know. 

I ended up having to stop for gas and then stop to pick up a cooler we'd left on a porch in White River with milk in it for someone.

But I hope to follow up sometime with the lady--and I'll know not to be afraid of her dog--the one that curled up inside my car on its owner's lap--imaginary fleas and all.