I heard a story once about a farmer who had some puppies for sale. He made a sign advertising the pups and nailed it to a post on the edge of his yard. As he was nailing the sign to the post, he felt a tug on his overalls. He looked down to see a little boy with a big grin and something in his hand.
“Mister,” he said, “I want to buy one of your puppies.”
“Well, said the farmer, “these puppies come from fine parents and cost a good deal.”
The boy dropped his head for a moment, then looked back up at the farmer and said, “I’ve got thirty-nine cents. Is that enough to take a look?”
“Sure,” said the farmer, and with that he whistled and called out, “Dolly. Here, Dolly!” Out from the doghouse and down the ramp ran Dolly followed by four little balls of fur. The little boy’s eyes danced with delight.
Then out from the doghouse peeked another little ball; this one noticeably smaller. Down the ramp it slid and began hobbling in an unrewarded attempt to catch up with the others. The pup was clearly the runt of the litter.
The little boy pressed his face to the fence and cried out, “I want that one,” pointing to the runt.
The farmer knelt down as said, “Son, you don’t want that puppy. He will never be able to run and play with you the way you would like.”
With that the boy reached down and slowly pulled up one leg of his trousers. In doing so he revealed a steel brace running down both sides of his leg attaching itself to a specially made shoe. Looking up at the farmer, he said, “You see, sir, I don’t run too well myself, and he will need someone who understands.”
As told by Charles Stanley