Hello! The summer heat has settled into every corner of our lives, hasn’t it? With guests visiting and children home on vacation, I imagine every household is spending a busier summer than usual. In our home, two of the kids are attending summer school, and our oldest is working with the Girl Scouts during the break. And one more change—we adopted a dog. Today, I’d like to share what happened during that adoption. But first, let’s listen to a hymn.

For years, our children begged us to get a dog, but I kept postponing it. I promised we would think about it once summer vacation arrived. With our busy lives, I felt I simply couldn’t handle one more responsibility. I even tried persuading the kids to settle for the trendy electronic pet “Tamagotchi,” but they all said “No!”

Then, a few weeks ago, our youngest graduated from elementary school and came home with an award. As soon as he received it, he demanded his reward: “a dog—right now.” So we held a family meeting and decided that since we had promised, we should at least visit the North Shore Animal Shelter (Long Island, NY) and take a look.

The shelter was a new building, clean and well-staffed. “These animals need homes! Please take one!” the workers said, their eyes soft with compassion, as cats meowed and dogs barked from behind their cages. Their expressions made it feel like we were visiting an orphanage. I even found myself thinking, “Animals in America really live well!”

As we wandered through the kennels, one puppy caught our eye. He was a tiny Chihuahua, about the size of two palms, with light brown fur. His name was “Wolfman”—a name that didn’t suit him at all. His big, deer-like eyes were so clear and beautiful that our whole family fell in love instantly. The reluctance we felt on the way to the shelter disappeared, replaced by affection for this little life.

We told the staff we wanted to adopt Wolfman. They handed us a form and told us to answer the questions:

1. Will the dog live indoors or outdoors? Answer: Indoors.
2. Have you raised a dog before? Answer: Yes.
3. What happened to that dog? Answer: About seven years ago, due to moving, we returned it to the shelter.
4. Have you raised a cat? Answer: Yes.
5. For how long, and what happened? Answer: About five years; it died.
6. How old was the cat when you got it? Answer: Just weaned.
7. Do you live in an apartment or a house? Do you have a yard? …

We filled out the form and waited. But instead of bringing out Wolfman, they began calling us in one by one for interviews. A girl who looked no older than twelve—apparently a volunteer—said, “We need the address and phone number of someone who can verify how you cared for your previous dog. Our computer shows that on February 15, 1990, you returned a dog named Presley due to a family allergy. But on today’s form, you wrote that you returned it because of moving. Which is correct?”

We were stunned. We had completely forgotten that the shelter had kept detailed records. Another staff member asked, “Cats usually live more than twelve years. Why did yours die after only five? Did you take it to the vet? Which clinic did you use?” The questions kept coming. We felt like criminals on trial.

Just moments earlier, the staff had been warm and welcoming, but now their attitude had turned cold. It was clear they considered us unqualified. On top of that, I remembered recent newspaper articles accusing Koreans of mistreating animals—stories about bears becoming endangered because of Koreans, and the constant mention of Koreans eating dogs. I couldn’t help thinking, “Maybe they’re being extra strict because we’re Asian.” My mood sank even further.

If we couldn’t adopt from the shelter, we would have to buy a dog from a pet store for a high price. We simply couldn’t give up on that adorable Wolfman. While we sat there speechless, the supervisor called us in.

“Our records show someone in your family has allergies. Are you sure that’s no longer an issue? If you bring a doctor’s note confirming there are no allergies, we’ll give you one chance. But we can’t guarantee the dog will still be here when you return.”

We sighed in relief and rushed straight to the doctor’s office. We obtained a note stating “No allergies” and hurried back. The staff were surprised at how quickly we returned. Then, with a smile, they finally placed Wolfman into our arms.

On the drive home, watching Wolfman nestled in the children’s laps, peering curiously out the window, our whole family burst into laughter over the unforgettable ordeal.

That experience taught me many lessons. I had completely forgotten that years ago, when we adopted Presley, we returned him after only a few days because his barking bothered us. I had blamed it on allergies and returned him without even discussing it with the children. They had carried that hurt for years.

We live moment by moment, but how sincere and truthful are we in those moments? What happens when the careless actions or lies we thought no one saw suddenly appear as permanent records for all to see? How often do we treat others coldly for our own convenience, or cut off relationships in an instant? These are the faces we encounter daily.

Scripture says in Philippians 4:8:

“Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.”

As I walk the dog morning and evening, I often reflect on this verse. If even our interactions with animals are recorded and revealed someday, how much more the things that happen in our relationships with people? Wouldn’t it be far better if what is revealed about us is not shameful or ugly, but praiseworthy, beautiful, and full of virtue?

Let us remember that the record of a beautiful life begins right now. May you live victoriously even in the heat of midsummer. Goodbye!

— Yoon Wan‑Hee, July 13, 1997