Seven years ago, life in Oklahoma was filled with joy, despite the ever-present worry of severe weather. With twin daughters, Emerson and Preslee, newly born and a litter of twelve Dalmatian puppies from our dog Harley, happiness was abundant. Among the pups, one stood out: a female with solid brown ears, resembling tiny earmuffs, whom we affectionately named “Muff.” While the other puppies found new homes, Muff remained with us, a special companion envisioned for my daughters. “They’ll all grow up together,” I’d told my mother.
One blustery May afternoon, Muff and Harley failed to return from their playtime outside. My calls into the whipping wind were met with silence. May is peak tornado season, and dangerous storms were on the horizon. My husband, Brian, attempted to reassure me, suggesting they’d simply chased a rabbit. “Dogs can always find their way back home.” However, by the next day, with the weather deteriorating significantly, my worry intensified.
Searches at the local animal shelter, drives around town, and inquiries with neighbors yielded no sign of them. While at my mother’s, a dire warning came: a powerful tornado was approaching. Scanning the bruised, storm-laden sky, my prayer was simple: “Lord, keep my dogs safe, especially Muff. She’s just a pup.” We sought refuge in an elementary school basement, the relentless howl of the wind outside deafening. My thoughts, however, remained fixed on Harley and Muff, exposed to the storm. The intensity of the tornado’s roar, akin to a freight train, eventually overshadowed even my anxieties for the dogs.
The Aftermath and Lingering Hope
When the storm finally passed, my immediate concern was finding Muff and Harley. Driving through the devastated landscape, I recognized the extent of our family’s luck. A tornado had carved a path of destruction less than half a mile from our home. The local humane society shelter was overwhelmed, filled with strays desperately seeking familiar faces. But neither Harley nor Muff were among them.
Six months later, we relocated 15 miles away. The worry persisted: what if the dogs returned to our old home and found it empty? Where would they go? Though I knew it was perhaps unrealistic, I clung to the hope of their return, a hope that gradually faded over time, especially for Harley. Yet, the memory of Muff, the little Dalmatian with the distinctive brown ears, remained. As the years passed and we welcomed two new dogs, a Dachshund and a Labrador retriever, my heart would still skip a beat at the sight of any Dalmatian.
A Glimmer of Hope Online
Then, six years after that devastating tornado season, a week before Easter, my mother called. She and my sister had been browsing the website of Rocky Spot Rescue, a local adoption organization. “We don’t need another dog,” I began, but she interrupted, “I think you need to see this.”
Logging onto my computer, I navigated to the website and scrolled to a photograph. My breath caught. There, in the image, were the unmistakable earmuff-like ears. The website identified the dog as “Ginger,” rescued shortly after the tornado six years prior. Could this be Muff? Brian remained skeptical. “Lots of dogs were picked up after the tornado. I bet a bunch were Dalmatians,” he reasoned. “Besides, do we have room for a third dog?”
I informed him about an open adoption event at a local pet store the following day. “I have to act on this. Otherwise, I’ll always wonder if it was her.” Brian agreed, “Okay. We’ll all go tomorrow. But don’t get your hopes up, Hon.” That night, doubts crept in. What had Muff endured in six years? Why was she still available for adoption? Would she even remember us after so long? My mother’s words offered comfort: “A dog never forgets a scent. If this dog is Muff, she will know you.”
The Reunion
Palm Sunday afternoon, we drove to the pet store, my hands clutching Muff’s puppy photos. The girls chattered with excitement about a potential new playmate. Brian cautioned them, “We’re just going to check this out.” Emerson’s hopeful plea, “But if it is Muff, we’ll get her, right?” was met with my husband’s cautious, “We’ll see.”
Upon entering the store, my eyes scanned the adoption line-up. Several Dalmatians were present, but none with those distinctive ears. I approached a shelter volunteer. “Excuse me, but do you still have the Dalmatian you called Ginger?”
“Yes,” she replied, “But she’s not available for adoption now. She’s recuperating from a dog bite.” My excitement surged. “Can we see her?” When asked why, I hesitated, “Because… I think she’s our dog.” I presented Muff’s puppy photos. The volunteer’s eyes widened in recognition. “Those ears look familiar, all right,” she conceded. “I’ll call the shelter right away and tell them about you.”
En route to the shelter, my heart pounded with anticipation. “Please let it be Muff. Please let her remember us.” As we arrived, dogs played in the yard. One Dalmatian stood at the fence, turning as our car stopped. I stepped out and called, “Muff?”
There was no hesitation. The moment she heard my voice, she barked joyfully, pressing against the fence, trying to climb it. Shelter employees emerged, commenting on her unusual reaction. “She doesn’t react that way to anybody,” one remarked. “She’s usually so shy.”
Once inside, the dog nearly bowled me over. I knelt, embracing her. She covered me in licks, her barks and nuzzles a clear confirmation. Though larger and filled out, there was no doubt she recognized me. Looking into her eyes, I shouted, “It’s her! It’s Muff!” Brian, his voice thick with emotion, declared, “Amy, this dog definitely has to come home with us.”
Muff’s Journey Home
We learned that Rocky Spot had rescued Muff days before she was scheduled for euthanasia. Her first adoptive family couldn’t care for her after a car accident resulted in a broken hip. Subsequent owners abandoned her, tied to a tree. She had endured numerous traumas, yet miraculously survived. We now call her Ginger, but to me, she will always be Muff. The girls welcomed their new dog, and I had my old companion back. On that first Easter Sunday, Muff—Ginger—and I walked together, her staying close by my side, occasionally looking at me with what seemed like disbelief. I understood her feeling. I recalled the tornado day, searching for her in the rising wind, my prayers carried by that same wind to the One who could keep her safe when I could not. Now, at last, she was home.
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