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“Can we get a dog?”

“Pleeeease?”

This wasn’t the first time I’d heard my kids beg for a pet. Three years had passed without one in the family after the last of our cats died unexpectedly. Since then, we’d moved into a new home, followed by the divorce of their father and me, and now their single working mom struggled to make ends meet. The divorce had been tough for the boys at the ages of seven and eleven. The fact they showed a strong interest in something, anything, was a good sign.

At the local animal shelter, we found more dogs than we could ever adopt. Each one pulled at our heartstrings. Only the right dog would stay within the four-foot picket fence separating our yard from a field with a pond. Not too big or too small. We focused on a medium-sized mixed breed named Sandy who eyed us from the back of the cage. The volunteers suspected she’d been abused.

Sandy proved easy to handle on a leash and minded well. She lavished the boys with gentle kisses and soon we were hooked. I completed an application for adoption and agreed to a three day waiting period. In the meantime, we stretched our budget and bought a dog house, dog food, collar, leash, and dishes for food and water.

During the ride home, Sandy grew both apprehensive and reserved. By the time we got to our yard she had grown skittish and scared. I stepped inside the house to get the water bowl and my younger son, Grant, rushed in behind me.

“Sandy got out through the fence and Justin ran after her!”

How foolish I’d been not to measure the openings! She had escaped before we’d even attached an ID tag to her collar. I hurried outside and found Justin carrying Sandy from the pond. His shoes, socks, and shorts were soaking wet and water dripped from Sandy’s paws.

“She slowed down when she got to the water and I caught her.”

We attached the leash to Sandy’s collar and secured the handle under the leg of the patio table. While the boys searched for the widest opening in the fence for her escape route, I called a friend who had recently been attending our Bible fellowship. In reality, Joe was quickly becoming more than a good friend. He had touched a spark in my heart where it had long ago been shattered.

After a trip the hardware store, Joe arrived with chicken wire and tools. Sandy grew more frightened of the terrible racket Joe made hammering the wire across the bottom two-thirds of the fence. The boys fastened an ID tag to her collar and took turns sitting with her until Joe finished, long after sunset. Eventually, the biting mosquitoes drove us indoors and Joe headed home. We kept a watchful eye on Sandy through the windows until she curled into a ball by the front gate.

I insisted the boys get to bed. I lay with Grant to help him fall asleep and woke shortly before midnight. On the way to my own bed I checked the backyard. Sandy was no longer sleeping by the gate. I retrieved a flashlight and ventured into the darkness to search the yard. I came to where Sandy had escaped earlier and froze. The wire had been pulled up from the bottom to allow a scared little dog in a strange new place to run away.

My heart sank. I knew the boys would be heartbroken. I checked on them, fast asleep in their beds. Could I slip out to search the neighborhood? What if they woke and I wasn’t home? On the other hand, they would be crushed without Sandy. I grabbed my cell phone and headed out.

I scanned sidewalks, yards, and bushes throughout the neighborhood, softly calling Sandy’s name. I worried I would wake the neighbors who would mistake me for a burglar. I envisioned the headlines: “Woman leaves children alone to prowl neighborhood.” That’s all I needed.

I found Sandy in a vacant lot two blocks away. I called to her in a sweet voice, encouraged when she wagged her tail. She’d wait until I got within a few feet before she’d take off at a steady trot. I followed with the sweet voice and alternated with a stern warning to stay put when she stopped. I felt a bit like Jekyll and Hyde, but finally managed to grab her collar.

Back at home, I settled Sandy in the garage then checked on the boys. Still asleep. I sat with Sandy for a time, encouraged that she let me pet her.

“I hope you adjust to your new home,” I told her. “We need you now more than ever.”

The next day, Joe helped me place landscape timbers along the bottom of the fence. It took Sandy only minutes to figure out she could roll them and pull up the wire. Next, we installed wood posts to secure the timbers, which finally seemed to foil this crafty little dog. We rejoiced the next morning when she hadn’t escaped. We decided she had earned a nickname: The Great Sandini.

Over the next few months, the boys spent every spare minute with Sandy, and I witnessed an incredible transformation among them all. No longer quiet and withdrawn as he’d been since the divorce, Justin romped through the yard with this wonderful new friend. Grant, initially timid and fearful of dogs, gained confidence in Sandy’s presence. In return, Sandy rebounded from the abuse she’d suffered and offered her unconditional devotion and protection.

Some may say we rescued Sandy from an animal shelter, but in reality she rescued us and healed our broken hearts. And she served as matchmaker for Joe and me, giving us a worthwhile project to tackle together. We remember it fondly now as husband and wife.

Yes, she is The Great Sandini.