Pistol

A crisp autumn morning at Charleston Air Force Base. American flags waved gently in the breeze.

“Be safe, babe,” I said to my wife, Ashley, holding her tight. You’d think these goodbyes would get easier. Ashley and I were Air Force pilots. This was the third time in less than 18 months that one of us had been deployed. Ashley would be on a four-month tour of duty, flying C-17s in the Middle East.

“Good luck with the pup,” she said. A look of concern crossed her face. “You’re going to need it. I’ll be praying for you.”

Ashley was referring to Pistol, the five-year-old golden retriever we’d adopted just 12 hours earlier.

I’d been asking God to bring a dog into my life for eight years, ever since my beloved childhood dog, Shammy, had died of old age.

Maybe Pistol wasn’t the right dog. He’d looked so sweet in the picture