When my kids were little we lived in Japan. I taught at a small liberal arts college (Miyazaki International College) at the southern tip of Kyushu. We lived in a new neighborhood at the edge of a state university that specialized in medicine and agriculture. Just beyond our neighborhood was the ocean to one side, rural countryside at the other.
One day, while riding our bikes through the big campus, we came to a small brown puppy curled up in a cardboard box in front of one of the dorms. A handwritten sign was stapled to the front of the box: “If I am not claimed by Friday, I will be adopted by the test lab.”
We got off our bikes and played with the pup. The kids begged me to take her home. Cute as she was, I was hesitant to take on the responsibility. We lived in a rented house and I knew we couldn’t have a dog inside. I also knew that we wouldn’t be staying in Japan forever, so the problem of taking a dog through customs and back to the United States looked complicated and expensive. I said “no”, but was keenly aware that my heart strings were already tied up in knots for the kids, the adorable little pup, and even for myself.
That night, the puppy was all we could talk about. I finally agreed to go back Friday after school and if the puppy was still there, we would take her home…
When Friday finally came, we peddled as fast as we could to the dorm where we’d seen the little dog. The box was still there, but it was empty. We stood around and lamented for awhile, then walked around looking for her. She was gone. We got on our bikes and started to head home when suddenly, she came tearing out from around another building. At top speed, she ran right toward us. I got off my bike just in time to catch her when she leapt into my arms. The kids were screaming and jumping and the pup was squirming all over us.
We took her home and named her Cherry for her cherry red coat.
Cherry changed our lives…
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