Several years ago I lived in an old farmhouse, along a river, in Eastern Washington. I taught at a university, and was renovating the house with my husband. It seemed an idyllic life, and yet I felt a deep sadness because I couldn’t admit that I had made a terrible mistake in my marriage.

At work, one of my co-workers fell ill, and I and another man took over her work while she was on medical leave. We worked early and late hours together to make up for her absence, and during that time, became very close. I realized that I was falling in love with him, but he and I were committed to our marriages. I felt horrible for my unfaithful feelings.

My guilt turned into insomnia, and after a few nights my husband asked me to sleep in another room so my restlessness wouldn’t disturb him. Eventually, I became so wound up that I began night walking along our country road, often for hours at a time.

My dog, a beautiful four-year old border collie named Starbucks, went with me—surprised and pleased to get the extra exercise. I would walk until exhausted enough to fall asleep, sometimes until dawn.

One day, after several months of this pattern, I went down to the basement to do the laundry and found in the washing machine a pair of muddy, wet jeans. My first thought was that my husband must have been working in the garden, gotten wet, and thrown his jeans in the wash for me to take care of. But when I pulled them out, I found my own sodden sweater and socks. And I remembered….

My walks had taken me repeatedly to the river, which was swift with spring rain. Early one morning, I remembered watching the river flow by, and filled with sorrow and guilt, stepped in. The first few feet were shallow, and then I would have hit deep, white water. But Starbucks ran beside me on a spit of land, and launched himself, hitting me full on with his body, knocking us both into the shallow water and mud. It was a karmic slap; I came to, and we struggled out of the river. There on the bank I fell asleep until he woke me, frantically licking my face and pulling my sweater. It was barely above freezing. If he had not awakened me, I might have died.

Until I found the clothes, I had no memory of what had happened. And in that moment, I realized how unhappy I was, how lucky I was that Starbucks had saved me, and that I very much needed help.

That was fifteen years ago. I did get help and, soon after, left my husband. I moved away and eventually found someone with whom to share a deep and abiding love. I’ll never know how Starbucks understood I was in danger, or figured out what to do. Sadly, I never saw him again after I left the farm, and he died of illness just a couple of years later. But he gave me a tremendous gift of life, and the awareness to use it well. I know that angels come in all shapes and sizes, and somewhere, there is a medium-sized, black-and-white angel still walking along a river, keeping an eye out for his mistress.

Susan–Maui, Hawaii