78SA
09-14-2012, 3:58am
A Father, a Daughter and a Dog
"Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!" My father yelled at me.
"Can't you do anything right?"
Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my
head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to
challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't
prepared for another battle.
"I saw the car, Dad . Please don't yell at me
when I'm driving.."
My voice was measured and steady, sounding far
calmer than I really felt.
Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled
back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside
to collect my thoughts.... Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a
promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner
turmoil. What could I do about him?
Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and
Oregon He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his
strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling
lumberjack competitions, and had placed often. The shelves in his
house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess.
The years marched on relentlessly. The first
time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that
same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became
irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when
he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man.
Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he
had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a
paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing.
At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an
operating room. He was lucky; he survived. But something inside Dad
died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow
doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with
sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally
stopped altogether. Dad was left alone..
My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live
with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic
atmosphere would help him adjust.
Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the
invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized
everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my
pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue.
Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and
explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling
appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking
God to soothe Dad 's troubled mind.
But the months wore on and God was silent.
Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it.
The next day I sat down with the phone book and
methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the
Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices
that answered in vain.
Just when I was giving up hope, one of the
voices suddenly exclaimed, "I just read something that might help you!
Let me go get the article.."
I listened as she read. The article described a
remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were
under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had
improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.
I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon..
After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the
kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down
the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs,
curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to
reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other for
various reasons too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the
last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet,
walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of
the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed.
Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades
of gray. His hip bones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was
his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they
beheld me unwaveringly.
I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about
him?" The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement. "He's a
funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We
brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him.
That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up
tomorrow." He gestured helplessly.
As the words sank in I turned to the man in
horror.. "You mean you're going to kill him?"
"Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We
don't have room for every unclaimed dog."
I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown
eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take him," I said. I drove home with
the dog on the front seat beside me.. When I reached the house I
honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad
shuffled onto the front porch... "Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad
!" I said excitedly.
Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust.
"If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have
picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't
want it" Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the
house.
Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my
throat muscles and pounded into my temples. "You'd better get used to
him, Dad . He's staying!"
Dad ignored me.. "Did you hear me, Dad ?" I
screamed. At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at
his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate. We stood glaring
at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free
from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him.
Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw..
Dad 's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the
uplifted paw Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer
waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees, hugging the animal.
It was the beginning of a warm and intimate
friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne . Together, he and Cheyenne
explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty
lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling
for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together,
Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at is feet.
Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the
next three years.. Dad 's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made
many friends. Then late one night, I was startled to feel Cheyenne's
cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come
into our bedroom at night.. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into
my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit
had left quietly sometime during the night.
Two days later, my shock and grief deepened when
I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still
form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a
favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had
given me in restoring Dad 's peace of mind.
The morning of Dad 's funeral dawned overcast
and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked
down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see
the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made, filling the church. The
pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who
had changed his life.
And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. "Do
not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this, some have
entertained angels without knowing it."
"I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said.
For me, the past dropped into place, completing
a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had
just read the right article... Cheyenne 's unexpected appearance at
the animal shelter. . ...his calm acceptance and complete devotion to
my father. . and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I
understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all.
Life is too short for drama or petty things, so
laugh hard, love truly and forgive quickly. Live While You Are Alive.
Forgive now those who made you cry. You might not get a second time.
And if you don't send this to at least 4 people
---nobody cares? But do share this with someone. Lost time can never
be found.
God answers our prayers in His time...
not ours.
Add up your blessings, and your joys will be Multiplied
"Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!" My father yelled at me.
"Can't you do anything right?"
Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my
head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to
challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't
prepared for another battle.
"I saw the car, Dad . Please don't yell at me
when I'm driving.."
My voice was measured and steady, sounding far
calmer than I really felt.
Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled
back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside
to collect my thoughts.... Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a
promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner
turmoil. What could I do about him?
Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and
Oregon He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his
strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling
lumberjack competitions, and had placed often. The shelves in his
house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess.
The years marched on relentlessly. The first
time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that
same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became
irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when
he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man.
Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he
had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a
paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing.
At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an
operating room. He was lucky; he survived. But something inside Dad
died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow
doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with
sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally
stopped altogether. Dad was left alone..
My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live
with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic
atmosphere would help him adjust.
Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the
invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized
everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my
pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue.
Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and
explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling
appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking
God to soothe Dad 's troubled mind.
But the months wore on and God was silent.
Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it.
The next day I sat down with the phone book and
methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the
Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices
that answered in vain.
Just when I was giving up hope, one of the
voices suddenly exclaimed, "I just read something that might help you!
Let me go get the article.."
I listened as she read. The article described a
remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were
under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had
improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.
I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon..
After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the
kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down
the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs,
curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to
reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other for
various reasons too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the
last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet,
walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of
the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed.
Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades
of gray. His hip bones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was
his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they
beheld me unwaveringly.
I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about
him?" The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement. "He's a
funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We
brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him.
That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up
tomorrow." He gestured helplessly.
As the words sank in I turned to the man in
horror.. "You mean you're going to kill him?"
"Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We
don't have room for every unclaimed dog."
I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown
eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take him," I said. I drove home with
the dog on the front seat beside me.. When I reached the house I
honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad
shuffled onto the front porch... "Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad
!" I said excitedly.
Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust.
"If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have
picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't
want it" Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the
house.
Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my
throat muscles and pounded into my temples. "You'd better get used to
him, Dad . He's staying!"
Dad ignored me.. "Did you hear me, Dad ?" I
screamed. At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at
his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate. We stood glaring
at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free
from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him.
Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw..
Dad 's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the
uplifted paw Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer
waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees, hugging the animal.
It was the beginning of a warm and intimate
friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne . Together, he and Cheyenne
explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty
lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling
for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together,
Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at is feet.
Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the
next three years.. Dad 's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made
many friends. Then late one night, I was startled to feel Cheyenne's
cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come
into our bedroom at night.. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into
my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit
had left quietly sometime during the night.
Two days later, my shock and grief deepened when
I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still
form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a
favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had
given me in restoring Dad 's peace of mind.
The morning of Dad 's funeral dawned overcast
and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked
down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see
the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made, filling the church. The
pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who
had changed his life.
And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. "Do
not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this, some have
entertained angels without knowing it."
"I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said.
For me, the past dropped into place, completing
a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had
just read the right article... Cheyenne 's unexpected appearance at
the animal shelter. . ...his calm acceptance and complete devotion to
my father. . and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I
understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all.
Life is too short for drama or petty things, so
laugh hard, love truly and forgive quickly. Live While You Are Alive.
Forgive now those who made you cry. You might not get a second time.
And if you don't send this to at least 4 people
---nobody cares? But do share this with someone. Lost time can never
be found.
God answers our prayers in His time...
not ours.
Add up your blessings, and your joys will be Multiplied