Lobo's Assignment

As the youngest of four siblings, Charles had always secretly felt like the unspoken favorite in the family—as if he held the fondest place in his parents’ hearts. His father had passed when he was still a young man, and now that his mother had lost her battle with failing kidneys, he found himself struggling with the unfamiliar weight of feeling like an orphan. Sitting on the front porch of his central Texas home, he wondered where good old Church of Christ ladies went when they died.

He had never truly valued faith—not since his early days as a youth in the church, when he felt overlooked by a missions selection committee. He always figured his church attrition irritated his mom, but now that she was gone, he felt a strange pull toward his spiritual roots. His wife had always hoped and prayed that his pursuits would reflect those of a God-fearing man, but little did she know, Charles’ heart was about to change.

It was a warm summer morning, the sun making its slow debut, when Charles sat with his mother’s Bible, a burning cigarette, and a heart aching for answers. She had been gone for only a week, yet in her absence, she had never been more present in his thoughts. He rehearsed the cherished memories alongside the painful regrets of the five and a half decades he had shared with her on this earth. He had cried more in the past few days than in all his adult life combined. The depth of his grief over her passing surprised him.

Just as he finished reading some of her handwritten notes in the margins and was about to close the Bible, he noticed a stray Australian Shepherd trotting across the ditch that lined the front yard. The dog stopped and stared at him, and for a moment, they studied each other in quiet curiosity. Charles’ father had always had a soft spot for strays, rarely letting a couple of months pass without bringing home another creature. Charles hadn’t inherited that trait—at least, not yet—but perhaps he was growing more tender with age.

A moment later, the dog resumed its course, and Charles quickly forgot about the brief encounter. But the next morning, as he returned to his porch, his grief still heavy, the dog appeared again—only closer this time. Annoyed, Charles raised his voice and shooed the dog away. The last thing he needed was a stray marking his yard and begging for food. Skittish, the dog bolted, disappearing into the brush. Yet, morning after morning (and even some evenings), the dog returned, undeterred by rejection. Seeing its frail state, Charles eventually left out some food from their cocker spaniel’s supply. He knew the river nearby would provide plenty of water, even if companionship was scarce.

The more the dog braved closer proximity, the more it earned Charles’ respect. Finally, one morning, the animal crept onto the porch and pressed its cold nose into Charles’ fingers. He gasped, surprised by the power of the connection.

The dog’s gray, white, and brown fur, paired with one blue eye and one brown, reminded him of a wolf. He decided to call her Lobo. That same week, his family was scheduled to leave for their annual summer trip to Colorado. Unsure of what to do with his newfound companion, Charles left out an ample supply of food. He settled on a test—if Lobo was still around when they returned in ten days, he would keep her.

Despite the distractions of their time in the mountains, Charles couldn’t keep his mind off Lobo. He felt almost guilty about how quickly his grief had made room for thoughts of this stray. But it was his wife who pointed out what he hadn’t yet realized—Lobo had become a timely and welcome distraction from his sorrow.

As they rounded the final corner of their return trip home, just a few feet from their country driveway, Charles saw what his heart had been hoping for with every fiber of its being—Lobo, comfortably perched on his porch chair. Tears filled his eyes as he mentally listed everything he needed to do to officially make the stray a part of the family.

His first morning back on the porch carried a different emotion—gratitude. Charles poured out thanks to the God of his mother. He had heard stories of people experiencing near-transcendent moments with animals, but to him, dogs had always been little more than necessary expenses to keep the kids happy. Now, it was undeniable—Lobo was on assignment. He wasn’t sure from whom, but one thing was unmistakable: she was a gift, and gifts are given with intention, not by accident.

With the vet’s help, Charles estimated that Lobo was about a year old when she arrived—just in time to save the day for a heartbroken man. She would live another twelve years, likely believing she got the better end of the deal, spoiled and deeply loved. Eventually, Charles and his wife moved to the Colorado mountains, where Lobo made friends with elk and mule deer, starring in too many home videos of playful sparring with wildlife.

They say a wolf’s commitment to its pack is unmatched and that they often appear when we face challenges we feel unprepared for. One of the hardest things to keep from doing when we grieve is to isolate. Certainly the temptation for Charles at the loss of his mother was to pull back from people and get alone with his thoughts. There’s certainly purpose in time spent alone but it’s not the full answer. Lobo arrived at just the right moment when grief might have otherwise swallowed him whole. The timing and nature of the encounter carried healing and shows that it can come in different forms, and that sometimes, we are given just what we need even if we don’t at first recognize it. Charles hadn’t connected these parallels to his own life when he first named the stray Lobo, but in hindsight, he realized exactly what God had been up to all along.