This week when I read through the Glen Rose newspapers I was struck by how many personal connections I had to the people, places and stories in these two thin editions. When I moved to Glen Rose in 2003 I didn't know a soul. In the nearly nine years since, I have made life-long friends, found my church home, fallen in love with the town and the surrounding countryside, where I bought my little piece of paradise and built a home.The photo of Dr. Mike Jones stood out to me the most this week, as we have recently shared quite a story. On June 7, while I was out of town on a girls trip weekend, my husband, Tracy, was coming home from a quick trip to town when he saw a tiny black and white speck in the middle of highway 67. As he drove past he saw a tiny head lift up.
He zipped his Ford truck around and scooped up a very young kitten. She had a bloody face and didn't fight him at all as he carried her to his truck. He drove straight to Dr. Jones' office, where the first question he asked was, "Is this kitten going to live?". After a quick assessment of her injuries, Dr. Jones assured Tracy that she would need surgery and an overnight stay, but yes, she would live.
My accountant husband immediately turned to cost...and was delighted by Dr. Jones' generosity in helping a lost, injured kitten get back on her paws, so to speak.
Tracy is the absolute best secret keeper I know, so all of this happened without my knowledge. When I got home Tracy said he had something to show me and led me into the dog's room, a nice corner room with lots of windows.
Out walked this tiny wisp of a kitten, less than a pound of absolute cuteness. I immediately scooped her up while Tracy told me her story. Her nose was covered in a scab and several stitches protruded from the left side of her face and under her chin. Tracy asked if I was sure we should keep her, since our two chihuahuas and our cat were all "old folks", in their late eighties and early nineties in pet years, but it was too late. I was already in love.
She is now a fine young mistress, named Lucy, called Squeak most of the time, and weighing in at 3.38 pounds this week at Dr. Jones' office. She is mostly tolerated by our geriatric pet population and is a constant source of comical entertainment for Tracy and me.
Dr. Jones and my husband both did a good thing when they helped Lucy get a second chance at life. I grateful to both of them. And another small town connection is made.
