Nothing quite prepared us for the impact 8 paws would have on our lives. My Mother, Evelyn, next door, my husband, Skip and I found the antics of the little pups to be the best entertainment around. We spent more and more time sitting on the back porta cache where the puppies would roll onto their backs, belly up for rubs and tickles. When they were not running around tumbling and chasing, they were in our laps basking in all the attention their little hearts desired. There was only one thing they lacked: names.
Because the faulty directions that sent us searching for the fifth “Mrs. Lamar’s Palm Reading” sign, resulted in
coming home with two puppies rather than the original two chairs, there was a suggestion that we name them Lamar and Palmie. Fortunately cooler heads prevailed. Other names before the Committee were Frick and Frack, Blxxkie and Whitey, Bob and Longtail. None of the suggestions could garner two out of the three votes. Thus, the brothers remained No Name Pups for months. Neither seemed to care one little bit.
We adopted our pups in April at eight weeks old, and for the next two months they spent a great deal of time in my arms during the day. They were so little and the world was so large. We explored the yard together. The white one nestled in my right arm and the black one cuddled in my left. I showed them the boundaries and explained the dangers of the street. When cars rolled by I would squeeze them closer and speak in a high, quivery voice in an attempt to instill a fear and caution for the dreaded Street.
One sunny spring day the puppies were playing in the newly mowed lawn when my neighbor, Nellie, brought her two grandsons over to meet the pups. Four year old Reid was afraid of dogs, but his older brother, Chad, fell into tug of rope with the pups and was soon romping and laughing with them. Before long little Reid joined the fun and ended up losing all fear as they covered his face with puppy kisses and wriggled around his legs.
A new-found fondness for the puppies awoke in Reid’s heart the greatest consideration in life. Making his way to my side Reid tugged on my shirttail as I talked to his Grandmother.
I looked down into his troubled face. “Are they Christians?” His sincere little Baptist eyes implored me to end all doubt.
I heard a little noise from his Grandmother, but managed to keep a straight face. “Well, Reid, let me think.” I played for time. “They came from a Christian family. And, we are Christians.” There was nothing for it but to take the plunge into dicey doctrine. “So, yes I think we can say they are Christians.”
Relief flooded his face and he turned to congratulate his new friends. Quick as a flash, Grandmother Nellie said, “Well, in that case, we will have to name them Paul and Silas!”
And, that was how the puppies got their names. The white one was Paul and the black one was Silas. They took after their namesakes in wanderlust. And, their canine missionary journeys carried them to far flung places, full of dubious exploits and many converts. But those are tales for other stories.
