Near-Misses

I hope you haven’t tired of the incessant grace notes I blog about whenever I can, because I’ve got a doozy for you today. It’ll make you cry and give you God bumps at the same time. I’m doing ’em both as I write this. Now please don’t stop reading before you get to the end, because like the best Papa God-stories, there’s a surprise waiting for you.

So this week I took my little 8-pound dog Yaz to the vet to have his teeth cleaned. I was supposed to pick him up in the late afternoon, but an hour and a half after I dropped him off, the vet himself called. That in itself was weird. His voice sounded oddly pinched. “Mrs. Coty,” he said right off the bat, “we’ve had a problem with Yaz.” My hand flew to my mouth.

“Right after we gave him anesthesia for his procedure, he stopped breathing. Then his heart stopped. He died on the table.”

WHAT?!?!? I was so shocked, I couldn’t speak. My horror hung heavily in the air like choking smog. But after a pause, the voice continued.

“The vet tech started resuscitation measures right away and after we worked on him a while, we were able to bring him back and get him stabilized. I’ve seen this happen before and it doesn’t always turn out well. God was with that little dog today. Yaz is on oxygen and an IV right now but he should be fine. You can come pick him up in an hour. We went ahead and quickly worked on his teeth and had to extract eight. But we only charged you for two.”

“Well, isn’t that kind of you since you killed my dog!” (Okay, I didn’t really say that, but I wanted to.)

When I went in to pick up my little furry boy, my eyes were all swollen and salty but Yaz licked my entire face anyway. I hugged him so tightly I was afraid I’d squeeze his colon out. The vet came out to the waiting room and had to retell the story of the “lucky little dog who came back from the dead.” The other clients sitting there gasped and their eyes bugged out of their heads. I thought there might be a mass exodus to their cars, but everyone was too traumatized.

What the vet didn’t know was that there was no luck involved whatsoever. I’d had a dark, ominous feeling all the way there that morning that I was telling Yaz goodbye for the last time. It didn’t make sense, but I’ve learned not to ignore such Holy Spirit elbow jabs. So I hadn’t stopped praying for him the whole time. He was covered with prayer. It was God’s grace that brought him back, not luck.

When we got home, Yaz ran laps around the house gathering all his squeaky toys to celebrate together, his tail wagging 90 mph. If you’ve followed my blog long, you know this is quite out of character for the normally tranquil little fella who is generally referred to as a stuffed animal that occasionally moves. Apparently the adrenaline shot that was part of the resuscitation protocol gave him an energy boost. He may not be able to chew but he can sure run like a gazelle.

After I stupefied Chuck with the incredible story of Yaz going all the way to the doggie door in the pearly gates before being sent back, he said, “Well, we’ve got to change his name to reflect God’s miracle. Let’s call him Lazarus. Instead of Yaz, he can be Laz.”

And so it is. Like Saul turned into Paul, and Abram turned into Abraham, and Jacob turned into Israel, Yaz has turned into Laz, the resurrection dog. He answered to his new name with a toothless smile and a passionate tail wag the first time I tried it out on him. Praise the Lord!

Have you had any near misses with loved ones, dearest BFF (Blessed Friend Forever)? I’d love to hear about it! (Comment below.)