Someone recently introduced herself to me as a pet rescuer. We all have our roles.

Pet talk. It always reminds me of my first PTA room mother luncheon in the early 70's. Pets were being discussed at the table — until — a mom with a barely concealed snarl said, "We have a pet at our house. We call him Daddy." We all looked down at the table until a socially correct someone cheerily changed the subject. I've often wondered if that marriage lasted.

But I digress.....

Pets for you? Great. For me? Not so much. But I am definitely a plant rescuer.

Here on Ladyslipper Lane there is only one store-bought plant. The rest are either propagated from pilfered cuttings or rescued from a variety of unpleasant situations.

The schefflera came from a friend's garage (she just didn't know what to do with it but couldn't quite throw it out). The lush fern was breathing her last in another friend's kitchen. The spider plant and several others were snatched out of harm's way from a garden nearby just as Old Man Winter came roaring. Downstairs, two huge geraniums lustily flourish after a frantic beat-the-frost evening run to a closed-for-the-season cabin (and surreptitiously returned, their owner will be amazed they survived the winter).

Check out the window in front of my desk at work. In November I found this little rose abandoned by someone who'd left the country — shivering in the cold, broken branches, valiantly clinging to life in a too-small-pot. A judicious pruning, fancy new pot, fresh soil, abundant food and water, sunny window and hope — and look how she's rewarding me!!!

Pray that we'd all be this successful as human rescuers.

Rescue the weak and the needy; deliver them out of the hand of the wicked. Psalm 82:4