"She's in a gray carrier," I insisted.

"No," he said, "The carrier door is open, the back window is broken out, and she's long gone."

We started to get up and look for her, but the EMTs protested.  They insisted on strapping us to boards and carrying us up the hillside to the ambulance, and then on to a trauma center emergency room.  We received excellent treatment there. I got 7 or 8 stitches in my ear and Pat was given a foam collar to protect her "whiplashed" neck.

We began to call our family members and friends who would be concerned that we were overdue.  Soon friends from near Atlanta came to take care of us - find us a motel, take us to buy some clean clothes.  But the first place we insisted on going was back to the site of the wreck. There we searched for Speckles and called her for over an hour, but got no response.

When we went to our motel, we lay awake for hours, too tense to sleep.  Our emotions were so mixed.  On the one hand, we were so thankful that the Lord had protected us during the wreck - we knew that He still had work for us to do, still had ways that we could serve Him.  On the other hand, while we were not upset at the loss of either the car or the trailer, we were overwhelmed with grief concerning Speckles.  Not so much that she might be dead, but rather the thoughts of her lost in the darkness, wet, terrified, cold, and alone.

Over the next two days, as we made trip after trip to the wrecking yard with our friends' help, emptying the Explorer and the travel trailer (they were both totaled), we revisited the site of the wreck many times, until the final time when we had to give up and head back home.  What a terrible feeling that was!  In our hearts we knew that we were leaving Speckles, lost and alone, almost 200 miles from home.

Before we left for home we placed a lost-

and-found ad in the local paper and called all the veterinarians and animal shelters, asking them to be on the lookout for Speckles.

Back home, we picked up our daily lives.  We filed insurance claims for the wreck.  We conducted our weekly neighborhood survey for a new Baptist church we are helping to start out in the "sand hills" near Panama City.  But many times, every day, we "teared up" as we passed Speckles' favorite spot.

Almost a week after the wreck we started getting responses to our classified ad, but none of them seemed promising.  One caller, however, sounded like a good prospect. 
"I think I've seen your dog this afternoon in my neighborhood," he said, "but she's
frightened and won't let anyone near her."

"We'll be there first thing in the morning," I joyfully replied, and Pat and I broke out in tears as we thanked God for the call.

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