Proof The Bible Is True

Zippy stuck his head out the car window, grinning into the wind that ruffled his fur. We were having a fine time vacationing in a cabin in northern Minnesota for the month of August.

My husband, Bill, hiked; Zippy, our Shetland sheepdog, ran in the open space; and I painted. We left our hideaway to replace the creaky old bed frame in the cabin.

“Look over there!” I said, pointing up the road at a country store with a big sign hanging out front: Consignment Shop.

Bill pulled up and parked. Zippy jumped around in back, eager to get out. “You stay here for a second, Zippy,” I said. I climbed out and poked my head into the store, chock-full of stuff, floor to ceiling. “Mind if we bring our dog in?” I asked the blonde woman at the counter.

“No dogs allowed,” she said. “I’m awful sorry.”

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