Five or six years ago (I’ve lost my ability to tell time in the past tense as I’ve gotten older) my daughter and I had stepped outside the place we were living and noticed a Yorkie sitting in the driveway. I had seen the dog before, for the week prior I had caught glimpses of her during the torrential rainstorms. I texted my wife to bring bait and what ensued was about an hour of me, my wife, and our four year old playing catch that puppy.
I managed to catch her and she collapsed against me. She was shivering. She was covered in fleas and ticks. What really blew our minds was she was a full blooded Yorkshire Terrier and she had been fixed (she had the tattoo).
My wife of course was determined we were not going to keep her. We already had two shihtzus and we seemed to be feeding half the stray cats in the neighborhood. However, our daughter fell in love with Millie. I took her to the vet and she was even chipped. That’s how we found her name. We never were able to contact the original owner though, we tried for days. Finally we stopped trying when we realized how devastated our daughter would be if the dog was claimed.
So since Easter is never the same day, we celebrate Millie’s found day on Easter Sunday. It was a little more poignant that Easter was the first after my mother had passed and Easter had been her favorite holiday. It seemed destined almost that we caught Millie that day. Now, years later, we wouldn’t have it any other way.