Hairy Beast Prayers

Bubba, my beast of of black lab, fell off the kids slide today. I was ripped away from my computer to the sound of high pitched yelping.
Henry flew through the back door screaming, "Mom, mom, Bubba's hurt. Bubba's hurt."

"What? What's going on?" I yelled out in frantic mom voice.

"Bubba fell off the slide."

"What? What do you mean he fell of the slide?"

Then all my kids, the neighbor kids, and the cousins started yelling at once. Though it did little to mask Bubba's yelping from the back yard.
"He climbed up."
"He fell on his side."
"He tried to jump the slide."
"He hit the slide with his tummy."
"Mom, he's hurt bad."

I pushed past the yelling kids, toward Bubba. Seeing me, he hobbled and yelped, with his big brown sad Bubba eyes, right to me. Henry, with tears pooling, stood to the side softly stroking Bubba's massive head. Seeing him and the others, now deadly quiet, pricked at my heart. Here they were all so scared and concerned for our lab.

I didn't know what to do.

I ran my hand a long the side of Bubba's lifted paw. He whimpered.
I patted his back and tried to sooth him.

"Mom," Henry said in such a small voice. "Is he going to die?"

"No." I hope not. "I don't think so bud. I think he's just really hurt."

"Mom," George's eyes were wide with fear. "Should we say a prayer?"

"Yes, George. Yes, that's exactly what we should do."

Then and there, in the dust and dirt that marks the entry from the garage to the back yard, we all folded our arms and prayed.

Within minutes, Bubba seized the opportunity that I was knelt down next to him. He jumped on me, abandoning his whimpering for a high-energy tail wag. After pushing the hairy beast off, I watched him run back to the yard, with out so much as a limp.

I guess prayers for hairy beasts really do work.