Annie, The Allens and The Alley-Gator

Word to the Wise: Never let the babysitter take your kids to the pet store while you’re out of town for the weekend.

Seventeen years ago, Michele and I took a weekend getaway to downtown Fort Worth. We had dinner and then went to see the musical Annie at Bass Performance Hall. While we were gone, our friend and babysitter, Nicole, stayed with David, who was 8 at the time, and Daniel, who was 3.

Looking for something to do on Saturday afternoon, Nicole took the kids to the pet store to look at the dogs.

Bad idea.

Both of them immediately fell in love with a chihuahua.

When Michele and I got home Sunday afternoon, we were greeted with excited cries of:

“Mom! Dad! You HAVE to go see the chihuahua!”

Later that week, Michele took the kids back to Pet Land and came home telling me I really needed to see this dog. I was determined not to get a dog until Daniel was at least 5 years old, but eventually, and somewhat reluctantly, I agreed to go.

That’s the day I first met Annie — and instantly fell in love.

 (We named her Annie because that was the musical Michele and I had seen that weekend in Fort Worth, and I felt a little like Daddy Warbucks rescuing this tiny orphan dog.)

 I told the employee we’d take her. They carried Annie to the back for a bath — she had no idea what was happening — while they loaded me up with a kennel, food, toys, leash, and all the other things I suddenly realized we needed.

 On the drive home, Annie sat in my lap with her tiny paws on the steering wheel, completely unaware of the adoring family waiting to meet her.

 When we got home, I set her down quietly by the front door, rang the doorbell, and hid behind one of the porch columns.

 David opened the door and looked around, confused because no one was there.

 Then he looked down.

 With pure joy in his voice, he screamed:

“IT’S THE CHIHUAHUA!!!”

I’m not sure a dog has ever been more loved by two little boys. David and Daniel took turns holding her, petting her, and telling her over and over how much they loved her. I honestly don’t think Annie touched the ground that entire first day.

 That night, when it was finally time to put her in her kennel, the boys held her paws, bowed their heads, and prayed with her.

I believe God heard those boys' prayers of protection over Annie that night because she stayed with us for the next 17 years.

Some people might say we rescued Annie, but I’ve always felt like Annie rescued us, too.

Through all the regular ups and downs of family life — kids growing from preschool to college, busy schedules, celebrations, disappointments, and everything in between — Annie was the one thing we could always agree on.

We often called her “Annie the Nanny” because she was such a big part of the boys’ childhood.

Truthfully, she took care of Michele and I, too.

If you were sick, sad, or simply worn down by life, a cuddle and a nap with Annie was about as close to a perfect prescription for healing as you could find.

Annie and I watched a lot of Ranger games, college football, and golf together from our living room couch. Sometimes she was asleep. Sometimes we both were.

I miss her.

Seventeen years is a long time to have a dog. It’s about the same amount of time it takes to raise a child from birth to college.

Except when your dog is gone, she’s not coming back home for Christmas, Easter, or Spring Break.

After Annie left us this past year, it was hard to come home each day without looking for her. For the first couple of months, I still expected to see her waiting at the door. Then reality would set in all over again.

Michele and I — true empty nesters now, with the boys grown and moved out — found ourselves quietly overwhelmed with sadness.

Enter our neighbors across the alley, the Allens.

Much like Michele and I did 29 years ago, Jake and Beth Allen moved into our neighborhood to start a family. First came Eliza, and two years later, Mary Clark arrived. Then, a year ago, the aptly named Grace completed the picture — along with a Goldendoodle named Willie Nelson.

In many ways, the blessing of having the Allens as neighbors gives Michele and I a bridge to our past of having young kids and a dog.  Crossing the alley can feel like a time machine.

After hearing of the loss of Annie, Eliza, age 5, and M.C., age 3,  invited us over for a special dinner.

As I walked into their kitchen, little M.C. handed me a picture she had colored and quietly said, “I heard you were sad.”

“Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.”

— Romans 12:15

The girls were wearing matching aprons and pink hats and proudly announced they had “cooked” us dinner — which mostly meant heating up pre-cooked Central Market food with a little help from their mom — at the brand-new diner they told us they had just opened.

They took us by the hand and led us into the dining room, where they had carefully set the table. Our names were written at each place setting.

Eliza and M.C. took turns hurrying back and forth to the kitchen, proudly serving us dinner, although I’m not really sure why they kept going back and forth, as everything was already on the table.  But it did make them look busy.

Baby Grace sat in her high chair with pure joy on her face — along with at least a little bit of every single food that was served. Willie Nelson stayed faithfully parked beneath her chair, knowing she was his best opportunity for falling food.

No five-star restaurant in the world could have served us better that night.

Eliza, M.C., Jake, Beth, and Willie Nelson served us far more than dinner that evening — they served our hearts as well.

As parents, Jake and Beth not only helped Eliza and M.C. see the truth of God’s Word but also gave them an opportunity to live it out as well.

“Carry each other’s burdens…”

— Galatians 6:2

“Encourage one another and build each other up…”

— 1 Thessalonians 5:11

“Love your neighbor as yourself.”

— Mark 12:31

“Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have…”

— Hebrews 13:16

“Let us not love with words or speech but with actions…”

— 1 John 3

As Michele and I walked home after dinner, crossing the alley — or the “alley-gator,” as the girls call it — we both smiled, knowing that our neighbors’ generous hospitality had brought healing with it.  

That special glimpse back to our past provided the blessing we needed to move forward into the future.  And unlike Back to the Future, we didn’t need a DeLorean going 88 miles per hour, a lightning strike, or a flux capacitor to get there. (Though hearing Huey Lewis sing “Back in Time” probably wouldn’t have hurt.)

In a world full of division, outrage, and endless doom scrolling, maybe what people are really longing for is someone willing to simply cross the alley.

To notice the hurting.

To set an extra place at the table.

To sit with someone in their sadness.

To love their neighbor not just with words, but with actions.

The Allens reminded us that you don’t have to do something big to change someone’s life. Sometimes healing looks like two little girls in aprons serving reheated Central Market food to grieving neighbors.

And honestly, the world could use a little more of that. 

May we all go forth this week and find our own version of crossing the alley, wearing matching aprons and pink hats, and find a way to love and serve our neighbors.   

I think Annie, who loved sneaking through the fence occasionally and crossing the alley, would approve.