I met him several weeks back.
I saw him a block away.
You notice little guys like him.
I also noticed his owner. Big burly rough-n-tough tattooed guy. He in the background with Mister Smiggle’s brother, Bruce. (click on picture for a bigger reveal)
I want to say he had on leather…Big Burley that is. And he was bald. Yes, I think. It’s hard to recall. What I’m trying to tell you is that you do not expect to see Mister Big-n-Burley with Mister Smiggles.
Mister Smiggles is a bitty sweet Toy-Yorkshire Terrier.
To me, Big Burleys and Bitty-bits of fur have nothing in common.
So I notice Mister Smiggles because of his carefree trot—and chariot. Actually it wasn’t even a trot—he seems to glide—fly— down the street with a chariot attached to his mid-section and hind legs winging wildly behind him.
See, his stubby little hind legs didn’t work. He got injured. He didn’t know he was a “toy” sized pooch when he decided to attack a pit bull.
I know. Ridiculous right?
But here’s where Mister Smiggles and Big Burley’s stories collide.
Mister Smiggles saved Big Burley’s son’s life (according to Big Burley). The pit bull was going to attack Big Burley’s infant son. And Mister Smiggles, clearly not knowing his size, clearly not caring about his stature, defended a helpless child.
That was seven, or was it eleven, years ago as I recall.
Big Burley said, from then on he would do anything for Mister Smiggles. And by the looks of this bitty bit of fur and his fine chariot with little wings on the side, I could see why Burley and Bitty were a match made in heaven.
Yeah, it started in heaven.
In heaven the Creator and Maker of bitty-bits of fur—and you—and Big Burley—plant little seeds inside of us. Seeds that give us a spark of something, regardless of our size, ability, stature, strength. Regardless of how worthy we think we are.
It’s a seed that sits somewhere between our heart and stomach. And it propels us at *just the right moment* to do the thing we didn’t think possible. The thing we didn’t consider. The thing we never saw coming.
You can’t plan for pit bulls. Or that illness, premature death, job loss, fire, sweeping trauma—and then five more right behind it, 13-year college degree plan, felony you didn’t mean, pregnancy, new career, struggling business, stupid church drama and rumors, bar room fight, depression stitched to your ass, or faith crisis.
But there is a seed in you that kicks in, instantly sprouts when it needs to. And you gain these super-powers you didn’t know. And you make it through. You survived the unthinkable.
And sweet surviving soul, listen, here’s where it gets a bit rough and uncomfortable. Surviving doesn’t mean you come out on top with a cherry. It doesn’t mean that everything magically returns to whatever you thought normal was. It doesn’t mean your spouse stayed, or that the cancer never returned. It doesn’t mean any of those things.
But it does mean your heart changes. It does mean you find new life. And you accept it and find a way to do it. It means you were given an ability, in the moment, when you needed it.
And before long, after the dust settles and the fresh wounds are healing, you’ll be flying down the street with Big Burley and that sweet chariot.
Fight the pit bull.
Trust that eventually a chariot with little wings becomes part of your soul.
The soul that can fly. No matter how soiled those wings are. It can fly.