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My Name is Smitty
By Thomas Miller
Hello, my name is Smitty. Yes, I have lived a crazy life, in and out of shelters. But there is one person I have to thank—Thomas Miller, my daddy. He rescued me when no one else wanted me. I remember the first time I saw him; I was looking out the window, and he was looking right at me. It was love at first sight. I had never been so happy in my life. I gazed into his eyes, and comfort fell upon me. I knew that all would be well, and I would never be in pain again. I had finally found someone who would love me for who I am—a big bulldog named Smitty.
I waited patiently for him to pick me up, to take me away from my chamber of horrors and into a loving home. My new master. My savior.
One day, I felt sick. My body ached, and my energy was gone. But my master carried me through the doors of the animal emergency clinic. I didn’t know what was going on. I was scared, angry, but never alone. He placed his hands upon my head and whispered something. “In the name of Jesus Christ and the priesthood that I hold, I give you a blessing.” I didn’t know what that meant, but something changed within me. A warmth spread through my body, and to my amazement, I started to feel better.
Something touched me—almost like a finger—and I growled, letting them know that was enough. From that day on, I had a new name: “Smitty Take on All Comers Miller.”
After all was said and done, we sat in the car. My master was inside the clinic handling something, and I overheard him saying, “How much?” I didn’t know what they were talking about, but his hands flailed in the air like a wild baboon. I knew he was fighting for me. He came out, kissed me on my forehead, and told me he loved me. I licked his face, savoring the moment.
That night, we went to a place called McDonald’s. I don’t know what that means, but I do know I had something called a hamburger. I don’t know what that means either, but let me tell you—it was better than the thing they call dog food. Let me emphasize: dog food is horrible. It’s dry, bland, and tasteless. But that burger? That was heaven.
Now, we are home, and every night, I sleep on the bed beside my master. I curl up next to him, and we fall asleep together. Sometimes, I have vivid dreams. One night, in my sleep, I kicked my master right in what he calls his “jewels.” Again, I don’t know what that means, but boy, did he wake up fast. He stared at me with the deepest gaze, and I stared back. We had a continuous staring contest. I think I won.
I worry about my master regularly. You see, he has a brain injury and a bad heart. I know this because he cries sometimes and tells me everything. At night, he talks to me. He asks if I am hurting and if I am okay. He confides in me. I am a 15-year-old dog, and my life expectancy is only 8 to 9 years. I have lived a great life. But soon, I may have to leave this earth. I wonder if my master can handle it. I tell him, in my way, that I will always be here. Whether he sees me or not, my spirit will be strong. My vessel may fade, but my soul will remain, and I will always live in his heart for all time and eternity. We will always have each other.
When the time comes, I will take it like a man. I will never forget when my master saved my life. I am indebted to him for the rest of my life and all eternity. As you can see, I am 15 years old, and this is how a stranger saved my life.