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>>> > >> THE OLD MAN AND HIS 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 doctors 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, Rick, 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
>>> >> Rick.
>>> >> We began to bicker and argue.
>>> >>
>>> >> Alarmed, Rick 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.
>>> >>
>>> >> A raindrop struck my cheek. I looked up into the gray sky.
>>> >> Somewhere
>>> >> up there was "God." Although I believe a Supreme Being had created
>>> >> the
>>> >> universe, I had difficulty believing that God cared about the tiny
>>>human
>>> >> beings on this earth.
>>> >>
>>> >> I was tired of waiting for a God who did not answer.
>>> >>
>>> >> 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 in vain
>>> >> to
>>> >> each of the sympathetic voices that answered.
>>> >>
>>> >> 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 hipbones 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 his 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 Rick, 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 Rick 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.
>>> >> "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers..."
>>> >>
>>> >> "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.
>>> >> ~by Catherine Moore~
>>> > >> THE OLD MAN AND HIS 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 doctors 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, Rick, 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
>>> >> Rick.
>>> >> We began to bicker and argue.
>>> >>
>>> >> Alarmed, Rick 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.
>>> >>
>>> >> A raindrop struck my cheek. I looked up into the gray sky.
>>> >> Somewhere
>>> >> up there was "God." Although I believe a Supreme Being had created
>>> >> the
>>> >> universe, I had difficulty believing that God cared about the tiny
>>>human
>>> >> beings on this earth.
>>> >>
>>> >> I was tired of waiting for a God who did not answer.
>>> >>
>>> >> 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 in vain
>>> >> to
>>> >> each of the sympathetic voices that answered.
>>> >>
>>> >> 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 hipbones 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 his 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 Rick, 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 Rick 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.
>>> >> "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers..."
>>> >>
>>> >> "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.
>>> >> ~by Catherine Moore~
