Dogs in Moving Trucks (Part 1 of “The Infamous Twelfth Move”)

Zach and I own a Collie named Rufus. He’s a bit of a vagabond. He started out in Fouke, Arkansas, home of the Boggy Creek Monster (aka: The Southern Sasquatch). Then he headed south to San Antone. The in-laws took him in and enjoyed three raucous puppy months. At the end of those three months, a gangly Rufus went north to Benton, Arkansas for obedience training. He stayed there until the morning of the now infamous twelfth move.

(Side note: our apartment allows dogs, just not in our particular building. So we are forever grateful to Zach’s parents and our friend and dog trainer, Chad Walker.)

Rufus left training sharp as a tack and ready for adventure. And oh, what adventure awaited us down the interstate.

Friday morning, my brother-in-law, Cody, and his girlfriend, Becca, helped Zach load the moving truck. I was boxing up the odds and ends and feeling quite guilty. I had worried myself sick. Literally. And the heat and the chaos of loading make my stomach churn with anxiety.

Someone had to tackle the odds and ends, anyway. So I did the best I could as fast as I could. But the worries of moving occupied my mind and would not leave. Would everything fit in the truck? Would anything get broken on the road? Would we meet our deadlines? Would my stomach get worse?

The more I tried to focus on other things, the stronger the anxiety was. I tried to fix my thoughts on Christ and “cast all my cares on him” (1 Peter 5:7), but I always ended up worried again. The battle was futile and it only got worse.

The next morning, Zach and Cody went to pick up Rufus. Becca and I tied up loose ends at the apartment and readied it for check-out. When we turned in our apartment keys and rolled out of Little Rock, my anxious spirits settled. We were on our way to Helotes, Texas and new possibilities. Hope returned and Rufus felt it, too. He rode shotgun with Zach and loved every minute of it.

In Texas, near Round Rock, the evening sun set enormous thunderheads ablaze with orange hues. I praised God for such a blessed journey and calm spirits. I prayed we’d make it safely to Helotes soon.

An hour out of San Antonio, Zach called me twice. I was too wrapped up in the dusky glow of Austin to notice the missed calls. But Cody knew what was up and led us over a bridge and back up the interstate. Maybe Rufus is carsick, I thought.

No, Rufus was fine. Zach was safe, too. He had miraculously parked the rental truck on a side street.

The rental truck’s axle had broken.

To be continued…