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Technically, Sebastian arrived right after one of my "Oh-God-I-don't-know-what-to-do-about-this" prayers. Being a single mom with five children (ages 11-17) and recently transplanted from the South to the Northwest put a strain on our prayer lives. All the children were running for different buses at different time periods and our morning prayer time together was shot. No longer being home schooled, dealing with cult religions, a climate change to get used to, the children were facing issues that made them think of Self first, and Jesus second. So, yes, I prayed. I prayed real hard. But I didn't ask for a dog.

My friend, Jackie, needed to get her dog Sebastian a new home. She knew I thought bassett hounds were cute and suggested that I, "Please, take the dog!"

As her begging progressed to bended knee, I said yes before she prostrated herself in the yard. I didn't understand her desperation. It turned out that lifting up my sister in Christ was easier than lifting Sebastian into the van.

The whole family discovered quickly that he was unique. His walk up the flight of stairs to our bedrooms was amusing. Watching him march down the stairs set us all into gales of laughter.

The morning after his arrival, I walked out of my bedroom, tripped over Sebastian, used the bathroom, and tripped back over him as I sat down on the top step. Sebastian came up and stood next to me, delighted that I had joined him on his level. He then gave me whiplash with his tail. I ignored his beatings to my back and arm and explained to him, "I come out here every morning and call the kids to 'prayer time.' They have been pretty lethargic since we moved here and I know their hearts aren't into praying right now."

I usually talk to humans, but Sebastian and I were the only ones up. I gave a sigh, patted the dog on the head, and called out "Prayers." Sebastian got all excited, grumbled a bit, then cocked back his head and let out an ear-piercing "Owoooooohhh."

All five kids came flying out of their rooms. "What's wrong with the dog, Mom?" "Who's here?" "What's the howling all about?" "Was that Sebastian?"

"It's just time for prayers, that's all," I said. "Let's pray."

As we prayed over all our concerns and for the body of Christ, Sebastian laid down, his drool-soaked muzzle hanging over the edge of the step, and listened contentedly. I noticed everyone taking peeks at the dog, smiling, then settling back into concentrated prayer. We finished. I gave everyone a kiss on the top of their heads and patted the dog.

The next day after my morning tripping and bathroom call, I sat down again and without speaking a word to the dog, I started to call out. Before I could make a sound, Sebastian reared back his canine skull and howled again, nice and long. All the children were there in a flash. Everyone thought it was funny that I prompted Sebastian to signal them. But I hadn't—at least not intentionally. We prayed and kissed and patted the dog, and soon everyone was out the door.

Morning three came and I was exhausted from a late night at work. After literally falling into the bathroom, thanks to Sebastian, I turned to him and asked, "Could you please call the kids to prayer." Sure enough, he did. Only this time, every mention of the words prayer, praise, or offering, Sebastian would also do a short howl or grumble.

Now, I don't want to suggest that this bassett hound was praying, but he certainly inspired us to pray. We even did some corporate prayer howls and let him do a howl offering to the Lord. The children accepted it as something special that God was doing in their lives. They were even a bit proud that they had the only praying dog in Idaho. In the evening, I found on several occasions one or two of the kids reading chapter and verses from the Bible to Sebastian as he laid his head across their laps, soaking their jeans with drool.

We had the bassett hound for several years, and he never failed to call the kids to prayer in the morning. He not only enjoyed beating us sore with his tail and covering us with slobber, but also delighted in being part of the family. The cat never did learn to like him, but that was part of his fallen feline nature.

I often worried whether we were being disrespectful. But then I would remember my prayer for help, and I could see how God answered it. So I gave prayers of thanksgiving to the Lord, ever so grateful that he had sent us our own unique prayer warrior, Sebastian.

Karen D'Amato works as a Certified Nurse's Assistant at a nursing home near San Francisco. She moved her family from Idaho to California two years ago after meeting her husband through a Christian Pen-Pal network. Her youngest son, James, was drowned at age 14 in a 1998 river accident. Sebastian, the canine star of her award-winning short story, was given to another loving family in 1999 when Karen couldn't bring him to California with her. Karen loves to share her faith in all spheres of her life, whether at work or school. She is releasing a book this year through Multnomah Publishers.

A Christian Reader original article.

Copyright © 2002 by the author or Christianity Today International/Today's Christian magazine (formerly Christian Reader).
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