God looks out for fools, children -- and stupid fathers (a.k.a., fools)

You may have heard some form of the old adage, "God looks out for fools and young children."  Some versions say he looks out for drunks and the United States of America, too.  

Whatever the source (The Bible or Otto von Bismarck), I would amend this saying.  In my case the truth is ... God often looks out for fools by another name -- stupid fathers.

Eleven years ago, we adopted a dog named Sadie.  She was a mutt who had been living on the street in Montclair, N.J., and we took her into our home.  She was about 40 pounds when we got her, mostly white fur with brown and black markings on her face.  Long pointed ears like a bunny and a long tail.  One blue eye and one brown eye.  

Sadie today.  About 12 years old.
Older, slower and lot calmer.

A unique dog in her looks, she was even more "unique" in her antics.  You see, Sadie was also certifiably crazy.  Just ask her vet and behavioral specialist at the time.

I could tell crazy Sadie stories for days -- and have to most people who will listen -- but this post is about one lesson she helped teach me more than 10 years ago.

Dopey Daddy Daycare

I had come home at about 8 p.m. one evening when my daughter Emma was about one-year old, and I had to take Sadie and Emma out for a walk because my wife was running late for an appointment.  I got Emma all packed into the ultra-cool, rugged jogging stroller with knobby tires, hand brakes and racing blue colors. I put on Sadie’s leash, grabbed a flashlight and rolled out.

Classic jogging stroller
with classic fit dad 

Everything was going fine.  We lived in a quiet suburban neighborhood.  It was dark outside, so none of our neighbors would be out walking and very few cars just drove up and down our block.  Emma was happily drinking her bottle and Sadie walked calmly next to her stroller with her leash in my hand.

Now, Sadie wasn’t crazy like a vicious, rabid killer.  She was crazy like a scared-of-her-own-shadow, extremely anxious and nervous pup.  When she saw a stranger or another dog she would go nuts, jumping around, barking, trying to get to them -- or away from them -- it was hard to tell which in all the panicked, frenetic movement.

On this night, when Sadie left a "deposit" on our neighbor’s lawn, it presented me with a bit of a dilemma.  With a flashlight in one hand to see what I was doing and a bag in the other hand to do what I was doing, I had one last piece of the puzzle to figure out.  What to do with Sadie and her leash?

I had one of those big discerning moments that you think about later in life.  You reflect and wonder, "What were you thinking?"  I remember thinking that this wasn’t a good idea at the time, but it would only take a second. And, then I proceeded to clip Sadie’s leash to the stroller’s handle. CLIP!

I looked around and didn’t see anyone.  As I bent over to pick up the dump, I heard a sound behind me down the road from where we had come.  It was a man and his dog out for a late night walk about 50 yards down the street. 

In an instant, I turned my head back to look at Emma, the stroller and Sadie.  It was already too late.  Sadie had heard them, too, and had been spooked.  She took off down the street at full speed with Emma’s stroller flipped over like a dragster on a raceway and careening behind her.  I screamed at that dog words and sounds I have not spoken since.

Sadie stopped dead in her tracks.

As I ran about 15 yards down the block, I was prepared for the absolute worst.  Emma was crying hysterically and Sadie sat there frozen -- for the first time in her life.  Luckily, Emma had been strapped so snugly into that stroller that when it flipped she didn’t get dragged on her head or face.  She was scared , but not scraped.  Sadie and I were just scared.

The lesson here is that when you get that little twinge in the pit of your stomach that says, “This isn’t a good idea,” go with that feeling and stop what you’re doing.  On that night, God gave me a pass. A near miss on a potentially devastating accident.  A wink, a nod, and a big "this one is on me" gesture from heaven. 

The truth is sometimes we get a little more help than our actions would deserve...

Editor's Note: This post is based on a series of essays I wrote from 2005 to 2009 and updated for Truth Is...