It was a snowy December evening on Cape Cod, Massachusetts. The wood stove fire felt welcoming as I settled the children into bed. I had a farm in Harwich, nestled in the woods, next to a large cranberry bog. It was an extraordinary place, and home to many animals that found their way there, and critters that I brought home from the small veterinary hospital where I worked.

We had sheep, goats, many dogs and cats, most of whom were challenged in some fashion, either blind, deaf, three-legged, or fearful, all needing a great deal of care. We even had a pig named Tiger who grew to be 800 pounds!

Several weeks before, I had seen a gaunt looking German shepherd lurking about the sheep’s pen, looking mighty hungry. Each time I tried to talk to the dog, he darted away and disappeared into the woods. I began leaving scraps out for him, hoping to gain his trust, but he steered clear of any contact with me or my children. On this particular evening, I had seen him crossing a road near our home, staggering. With the snow beginning to fall and night approaching, all our animals safe and warm, I was full of concern for him.

I sat down by the wood stove and prayed. It was quite a simple prayer. I just wanted to help. So I asked God, “Father, please show me what to do.” My motive was love, nothing more. I certainly wasn’t looking for another dog; we had five at that time! With that quiet longing I dozed.

Wakened by a very clear voice that said, “Go, look for the dog,” I opened my eyes. I thought, “Why that's crazy, it is nearly midnight and I would not know where to begin!” Again came the message, “Go, look for the dog.” This time, I took heed. I realized what I had asked, and here was an answer, so I had better listen..

I woke my husband to tell him that I was going out to look for that dog and he sleepily looked at me, without saying a word, and turned over. I’m sure he thought I was nuts!

I clambered into our old pickup truck and headed out in the now heavily falling snow. “All right, Father,” I whispered, “here I am.” The words to one of my very favorite Christian Science hymns, a poem written by Mary Baker Eddy, were in my heart: “Shepherd, show me how to go . . . .” I drove onto the road where I had last seen the dog and looked for a place to park so that I might walk a bit and see if there was any trace of him. I pulled into a cemetery nearby and my truck promptly stalled, completely stopped. I looked out my window, and there, huddled by a bush, was the dog! Before I could catch my breath with the wonder of being led straight to him, he vanished into the snowy dark. I sat there completely in awe and aware of God’s presence. I thanked Him with every ounce of my being, and said aloud to the dog, though I couldn't see him, “God led me to you, so I’m not leaving without you.”

It took me two hours to round up that dog and boost him up into the truck! He was so skinny, I don’t know how he could stand. He pressed against me as we drove home, shivering, and growling softly. Completely assured that Love, God’s love, was still leading me, I felt safe, even though this dog was protesting somewhat, and very fearful.

When I parked the truck, the lights went on and my sleepy husband opened the front door. “Well, did you find anything?” he questioned lovingly.

“Could you get a leash please?” was my soft answer.

This dog had a collar with tags, and after I had fed him {he inhaled the food}, and made up a bed for him, I carefully removed the collar. He was so afraid that I had to move very slowly and talk quietly to him. I discovered that he was from Pennsylvania and thought he had probably been lost since tourist season. I had visions of reuniting him with an owner who was missing him terribly.

Meanwhile I moved in an atmosphere of gratitude to our God, who loves so very much, in such tangible ways, and by whom not one is ever forgotten.

When I tracked down his owner and excitedly called to bring news of their now found dog, I was greeted with a response I didn't expect.

“Oh, you found Killer? We got rid of him months ago, he’s no good, he killed our cattle and he’s terrible with kids, we gave him to some people moving to Cape Cod – good luck!”

I changed the dog’s name to Miller. It took two years before he would let my husband pat him, but with loving patience they forged a tender, trusting relationship. He followed my children everywhere, never leaving their side on walks around the bog, and through the woods. When we fostered a child who had come from an abusive home setting, Miller took particular care of this boy. They opened one another’s hearts.

We had Miller for five years, and he was full-grown when he came to us, so we were never certain of his age. I do know that we were brought together by love. I do know that by following our hearts, when our motives are pure, and by listening, we are led down just the right path, at just the right time, for just the right blessing.