When my daughters reached the third and fourth grades, I occasionally allowed them to walk to and from school alone if the weather permitted. One warm spring day, a little dog followed them home after school. It had short legs and long lovely ears, with a fawn-colored coat. It was the cutest dog I had ever seen and the girls begged me to keep it.
The dog was barely twelve weeks old. It had no collar or identifying marks of any sort. I didn't know what to do. I thought about running an advertisement in the lost-and-found but I really didn't want to. It would break the kids' hearts if someone should show up. Besides, its owners should have watched it more closely.
By the end of the week the dog was part of our family. It was very intelligent and good with the girls. The following week something told me to check the lost-and-found section in the local paper. One particular advertisement jumped out at me and my heart pounded with fear at what I read. Someone was begging for the return of a lost dog in the neighborhood of our grade school. They sounded desperate. My hand shook. I couldn't bring myself to pick up the phone.
Instead, I pretended I hadn't seen the advertisement. I quickly put paper away in the drawer and continued with my dusting. I never said a word about it to the kids or my husband.
By now we had named the dog. It looked like a Molly, so that was what we called it. It followed the girls everywhere they went. When they went outside, it was one step behind them. When they did housework, it was there to lend a hand.
There was only one problem with this otherwise-perfect picture: my conscience was bothering me. I knew in my heart I had to call that number and see if our Molly was the dog they were desperately seeking. It was the most difficult thing I've ever done.
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With mixed feeling, I finally picked up the phone.
……
I asked the woman to come in and she quickly bent over and hugged Molly tightly.
