When our boys were little, they were part of a big group of kids of all ages in our town in Iowa who were homeschooled. They were all friends and they spent loads of time together. This is a true story from those times.

Rose never went anywhere without Jingles. They were best friends, even though Rose was a six year-old girl and Jingles was a stuffed animal, a little brown bunny.

One day, all the kids went on a field trip to an old rock quarry. A rock quarry is a place where bulldozers dig up rock that’s in the ground, and grind it up to make gravel for roads.

It’s a great place to look for fossils—and that’s what the kids were doing. They started at the bottom, and slowly made their way around the side walls to the top. From there they could look out over that giant pit, and imagine the days of the dinosaurs.

All of a sudden, our son Gabe called out, Hey everybody, look at this!  and the kids came running to see what he had found: it was a narrow, deep crack in the ground, called a crevice. It wasn’t very wide—but it was very, very deep. Rose and Jingles came running too, and then something terrible happened. 

Jingles slipped from Rose’s arms and fell into the crevice. He tumbled down, down, down to the bottom until all the kids could see was a tiny brown speck. Rose was completely still, like she had turned into rock herself…and then she began to wail: Jiiingles! Jiiiingles!

Some of the kids hurried to the bottom of the pit, where they would see that the crevice came all the way out the side wall. But it was at least 20 feet in to where Jingles lay in a heap. Too far to reach!

Believe me, they tried. Rose’s older brother, Dylan, was tallest, but his arm couldn’t reach anywhere near far enough. Zane was quick and small, but not small enough to fit in the crack—and anyway, it wouldn’t be very safe.

 It was getting dark, nothing more could be done. They had to leave Jingles and go home. No one had ever seen Rose so sad. She was quiet now, with giant tears making their way from her eyes to her chin.

The rest of that afternoon and evening, the kids came in a steady stream to Rose’s house, bringing her their own stuffed bunnies, and other favorite animals. Ida and Sophie brought two tiny squirrels they had made from yarn. Zoe and Eli brought a purple panda bear. Hannah and Elsa, a floppy frog that made actual croaking sounds. Carina brought her Betty Ballerina doll, dressed in a fluffy pink tutu, and David and Matthew, having searched through all their favorites, settled on a blue bunny, softer than Jingles, but lacking the cheeriness that was one of Jingle’s finest qualities. With each gift, Rose tried to smile, and always remembered to say thank you.

That night, her mom made pizza, Rose’s favorite, but Rose couldn’t eat, she could only think about Jingles. Was he cold? Was he afraid?  Would she ever get him back? She looked up at her parents, and in a small voice said, I don’t know how I will be able to sleep without Jingles.

Jingles was in a deep, dark place—and so was Rose--and everyone knew it. To make things worse, it had started to rain.

After an endless night, the morning came, grey and windy. But now the whole community was ready for action. Everyone had an idea about how to save Jingles.

Mark B., who taught the kids jewelry-making every year at summer camp, offered to lower down some food (he thought it was a LIVE bunny). Gabriel, who was twelve, thought some sort of explosive might work. He offered to do some tests.

Ingrid’s dad, Jon, who is a car guy, thought a coiled tire chain might do the trick. We’ll drop it down, he said, and drag Jingles out the side. He and the other dads looked at each other, and nodded. And then they swung into action.

A very large crew rode out in a caravan of cars, kids, moms, dads and even a few pets. They slid to a stop in the quarry, mud flying everywhere. The rescue mission shifted into high gear. The tire chain was tied carefully to a fishing pole, and then lowered into the crevice. A thousand points of flashlight shone down on Jingles, tiny, cold and alone.

Slowly, the chain was dragged over and over Jingles, nudging him closer and closer to the opening in the sidewall, and finally, finally, into Rose’s outstretched arms!

And though he smelled like a wet rock, was a rather darker shade of brown, Rose didn’t notice at all—and neither did Jingles. In fact, no one noticed much of anything beyond Rose's radiant face.

Rose was only one night without her Jingles, thanks to their many friends. Last month, Rose and her family came to visit my family here in Santa Barbara. She is sixteen now, and since the best friendships are meant to last, she brought a friend. Can you guess who? (And were we ever glad to see him!)