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From Dennis Jackson, Friend. You’re right. Hero was a very special, loving being. He was as big as a house, as lovable as a lamb, and as wise as he was loving. He was meant to be a big sweet guardian/ helper to you, and a best friend to Guy; and it was a pleasure to all to knew him. Apparently, I didn’t realize half of his capabilities, but I wasn’t really surprised! In Hero’s own way, he was a beautiful problem-solver who knew what to do on every occasion; including placing himself between that dog that bit Guy and Guy, on that July 4th weekend and notifying you when your sleep apnea machine prematurely turned off. Hero’s range of capabilities and accomplishments were limitless and it appears he never stopped learning. In fact, he probably is still learning wherever he’s at. A long time ago, when I had to put Missy down, Annie found me the attached poem. I always like to share it with friends who loose four legged, furry buddies who have finished their service here on earth and moved on. I’m not sure why the poem is so easy for me to believe, but it is. Take a look and take heart in the writing. "The Rainbow Bridge".

Quincy the Wonder Dog From “Steve’s Letter” September 1999; by Steve Brown of Key Life . . . If you don’t like dogs, you aren’t going to appreciate anything that follows. In fact, you aren’t going to understand it. (W.C. Fields once said, “Anyone who doesn’t like dogs and small children can’t be all that bad.”) So, if you don’t like dogs, you are excused and you won’t be tested on the material. We had to put Quincy the Wonder Dog to sleep last Sunday. It was really hard. If it’s okay with you, I would like to tell you about my dog. When Quincy was born, he was the only survivor in the litter and, even though he was a survivor, he had some serious problems. One of the most serious was an early deterioration in his hips. The doctor suggested that we have the hips removed and said that cartilage would grow to replace the hips. The doctor said that Quincy would be “almost normal” but might have a slight limp. (That, by the way, proved to be true and the limp only showed up when he was really tired.) The operation was quite painful and, because I took Quincy to the vet for the operation, I was afraid that he would never speak to me again. After all, he didn’t understand whay he had to go through all the pain…he just knew that it hurt really bad and that I had taken him to the place where he received the pain. I was afraid he would blame me for the operation and was worried. There was no way I could explain to Quincy that the operation and the pain were for his own good. So I picked up Quincy from the vet. He was in horrible pain and I had to help him get to the car. He had a limp and cried with the pain as he walked. When we got home, I put him on a blanket in the corner of our family room, made him as comfortable as I could, and sat down to read the paper. In a couple of minutes, I felt the newspaper moving and looked down as Quincy pushed under the paper and placed his head on my lap. Barnhouse, as I’ve often told you, said that all of life illustrates Bible doctrine and, as I looked at Quincy with his head in my lap, I prayed, Lord, make me like my dog. I know sometimes I don’t like what happens in my life, and I certainly don’t understand. But teach me to trust You in everything, even when I don’t understand. Job said in the midst of his misery, “Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him” (Job 13:15). Quincy was sort of like Job and I would like to be like that with God. A number of years ago when we went through Hurricane Andrew, Quincy didn’t understand all the noise and wind. As I’ve told you, Anna and I came back from the mountains of North Carolina to be in the hurricane. (Is that dumb, or what?) Quincy was very glad to see us. He knew something was wrong, but he didn’t care because we were home and that was enough for him. During the hurricane, after we had gone from room-to-room looking for a safe place, we finally ended up in a closet…and the water was pouring in from the ceiling of the closet. The wind was howling, the walls were shaking, trees were hitting the house and breaking through the roof. Frankly, I was fairly sure we were going to die. That was when Quincy dropped his ball in my lap and began to wag his tail, hoping that I would throw the ball for him. I said, Quincy, we are about to die. This is the time to pray and repent. It is not the right time to play ball.” But, you see, he didn’t care about anything else because, if his master was there, things couldn’t be that bad. Sometimes things get really tough and the winds of life are blowing hard. I do get frightened…and I think of Quincy. I prayed that night, Lord, teach me to trust You and to have peace in my storms for no other reason than that You are there. God is our refuge and strength, A very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, Even though the earth be removed, And though the mountains be Carried into the midst of the sea… Psalm 46:1-2 I don’t think I will ever forget Quincy’s last day. I had thrown the stick for him and he ran to get it. That was when his hips gave out. He tried to bring the stick to me by pulling himself toward me with his front paws…but he just couldn’t do it. He tried. He really tried, but just couldn’t pull it off. He, of course, knew I would understand his failure. Even if he hadn’t tried to bring the stick, he knew I would understand. Quincy was a really fine dog…but he wasn’t always obedient. We sent him off to “reformed school” for a month of training and I suppose it helped a bit…but not much. Frankly, there were so many things to do, so many places to go, and so many experiences to try that he sometimes ignored me and did what he wanted to do. After the fire and the excitement died down, he would be ashamed…but that didn’t keep him from coming to me with a ball in his mouth and his tail wagging, assuming I would still think he was the best dog in the world. He never kept track of his “sins” and he knew that I didn’t either. I wish I could be that way with God. In my head, I know the doctrines. I believe that Christ’s righteousness has been imputed to me and that He will always accept me, never be angry, and always be fond of me…but it’s hard to remember sometimes. Blessed is he whose transgression is forgives, Whose sin is covered. Blessed is the man to whom the Lord does not impute iniquity. Psalm 32:1-2a My friend, John DeBrine, is a bachelor. Instead of a wife, he has always had German Shepherds. (He often said to people who asked him about getting a wife, “Does your wife meet you at the door wagging her tail and jumping up and down because she is so glad to see you?”) When John took his beloved Shepherd, Tang, to the vet to put him to sleep, John prayed (out loud so the unbelieving vet could hear), “Lord, make me as loyal to You as Tang has been to me.” I’ve thought that too. But, frankly, the thing about Quincy was that he knew, even if he weren’t loyal to me, did things that displeased me and sometimes didn’t obey me, that I would still think he was the best dog in the universe…the he would still be “Quincy the Wonder Dog.” I can’t explain that, Quincy couldn’t either, but it was true. He basked in my love and acceptance, always knowing that it would never change. I want to remember that about God. It’s that which will make me loyal…and not my loyalty which will make Him love and accept me. “In this love, not that we loved God, but that He loved us and sent His Son…We love Him because He first loved us” (I John 4:10 and 19). I’m going to miss our dog a lot. Blessings, Steve

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