SQuire Rushnell

Sammie was a Westie, cute and sociable, living with his owners in an Upper East Side New York apartment, not far from where the annual St Patrick’s Day occurs.

Every morning Sammy’s routine began with a walk and run with his owner, a man whose name was pronounced “Ree-chard.” Richard’s French-accented “Good morning” was almost as welcoming as seeing little Sammy trying to pull a grown man out onto the sidewalk for their daily jog in Central Park.

Sammy always stayed close to Richard. In return for his good behavior, Sammy received one of a dog’s greatest treats. Time off the leash.

Ahhh … freedom to scamper! Not too far. Just a little. If dogs could whistle, that’s what Sammy was doing. Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah.

GRRRR…GRRRROWL! Sammy jumped a foot in the air! YIKES! The world’s biggest Doberman, teeth baring, leapt from the shadows. Sammy bolted!

Richard heard the commotion, looked, and Sammy was nowhere to be seen!

Sammy ran like the wind, for what seemed to be miles, until he realized the Doberman was not on his tail. He slowed… with no idea where he was. A city dog, he only went to places with Richard.

Meanwhile, after looking and looking, Richard headed back to their apartment, to organize a search squad of friends and neighbors. Crying, his wife said, “Perhaps somebody will see his name tag and call us.”

At the moment, that seemed like an improbable outcome, causing Richard to choke up.

Shortly, a team of friends and neighbors had assignments to search different quadrants of Central Park, meeting back at the apartment at 3:00 p.m. But, everyone returned dejected.

Sammy, wandered aimlessly through Central Park. His ears perked up, hearing the familiar motor noises of a city bus stopping for passengers. He ran toward familiarity.

Emerging from the park, the street was filled with busy traffic, cars, buses and yellow cabs. The air was filled with honking sounds.

He joined some people crossing the street and spotted a doorman holding a hose, watering down the sidewalk in front of a Fifth Avenue building. He took a few licks of refreshment from the little puddle on the sidewalk.

Hearing a voice, Sammy perked up! Someone was speaking in a foreign language … French. Once more he ran to familiarity.

At the apartment Richard sadly released his search squad. Tearfully thanking them all.

A note was left by the housekeeper. Someone had called and left a number. “Bonjour . . .” answered an operator.

“Hello,” said Richard, hesitantly. “Someone left this number to call. My name is Richard Tempchine.”

“Oui, monsieur,” said the operator, “these ees the French Embassy on 5th Avenue. Your leetle puppy has come to visit us. He ees in our garden, right now. And we noticed a tag weese your number.”

A burst of joy!

Somehow little Sammy had traveled thirty New York City blocks and arrived at a place he’d never visited before—the French Embassy!


We can only imagine the anguish felt Richard and his wife ... and the fright of little Sammy. But that day they were on the greatest GPS every created ... God's Positioning System.

Of all places for Sammy to end up, in one of the world's biggest cities, was the French Embassy.

And, if this story had taken place on St Patrick’s Day, Sammy would have been at the perfect spot to watch the parade!

Good wishes for Godwinks of green and glorious blessings.


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