If anyone loved dogs more than my husband I did, it was our best friend, Susan. She volunteered on the board of our local Humane Society, and often called with news of an adoptable dog. “You won’t be able to resist this one,” she’d say. But Carl and I always said no because we had three dogs already. When we lost our beloved old Tinker, Susan gave us a knowing look. “It’s time,” she said. But we just weren’t ready.
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Susan had chosen a small beech as her special tree in our woods, and when she died unexpectedly last fall, we buried her ashes there.
One afternoon we started off with the dogs on our daily hike, but instead of the usual path, we meandered over to another area. A rustling startled us. In a pile of leaves, we discovered a tan and white puppy, abandoned. “What a little pixie,” Carl said, reaching down for her. We knew we were meant to take the puppy home.
Two days later, we walked with Pixie out to Susan’s special beech tree. There wasn’t the slightest whisper of a breeze, but the tree began to quiver, its leaves shimmering as if with joy. “Thanks, Susan,” I said. “This time we just couldn’t resist.”
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