The Old Man and the Dog (my thoughts)

This came in my inbox today from my mother-in-law. I liked it. It was cute, sweet, and as a crazy dog lover...kind of right up my alley!

But I need to comment on the bottom of it and get any thoughts out there on if/how I should respond to M-in-L.

Life is too short for drama & petty things, so laugh hard,

love truly and forgive quickly.

This is sooo true...but D (my M-in-L) thrives on drama and pettiness, rarely laughs, and doesn't understand love and forgiveness (ie--my mom has visited curt twice, writes him weekly, and answers anytime he calls. His own mom--hasn't even applied to visit, has not written him and only answers sometimes when he calls--which one shows love? Forgiveness? )

Lost time can never be found.

Again--so true...but how to get her to do more than forward stories about it on to others? UGH!!!! This is why I don't want to visit their home town. YUK!!!

The Old Man and the Dog

The Old Man and the Dog

by Catherine Moore

"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. Sugges tions 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, wa lked 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 fr ont 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 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 f or 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.

Life is too short for drama & petty things, so laugh hard,
love truly and forgive quickly.

Live While You Are Alive.
Tell the people you love that you love them, at every
opportunity.
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 - who cares?
But do share this with someone. Lost time can never be found.

---

Jobs, Careers, and Callings

So I have now been gainfully employed for two weeks! I already have become somewhat attached to this place and the people we serve. I had forgotten in the last eight years what it feels like to be working at something you are called to do. And I am soooo grateful for the chance to do so again. It's a balm on a wounded soul. :)

It's the little things at work that have been sooo uplifting. Getting a client whose normal facial expression is a grimace to smile, getting a deaf client to respond in sign, when she refuses to sign most of the time, having a client who normally takes months to adjust to new people talk to me the first week. Nothing that those who don't feel a connection to the least of these our brothers/sisters would think of as important. But for these...wow! I've already got a small collection of art work too. A coloring page of an angel, a picture drawn by a woman with her and myself signing to each other and the words Andrea/Chris sign happy, a "modern art" piece with blocks of purple, blue, green and brown--the clients favorite colors! And a God's eye--made with two wooden skewers, and bits of different colored (non-matching) pieces of yarn. I think I'll need a small box for all the art I'll get over the years I want to be here!

I've had many jobs in the past eight years...several different careers...but now...I'm finally returning to my calling. It doesn't feel like work at all. :)

It's been too long!!!

So I realized it had been way too long since I put anything here! Life has been busy. An out of town trip with a friend, holidays with family, and the start of a new job! WOW no wonder I didn't post...So where to begin? At the very beginning of course! :)

The out of town trip was a great time. Days to myself (friend had to work-:( How sad!) But I was able to see some great art and a historical museum devoted to life in the mid 1800s. Just the things a history buff loves to do! Did a lot of walking too. So went into the holidays relaxed and a happy camper!

The Holidays were nice. Grandma was here from out of town. Sister A and Brother-in-law B as well as their kids S1, S2 and S3 came in on Christmas day and stayed for 5 days. They also brought 2 dogs. Add to my 3 and parents 2...7 dogs, 6 adults and 3 kids in one house...a bit of insanity, but lots of fun!

Sang in my Church choir for Christmas Eve mass. Was a beautiful service. Mom came with me. And a couple of friends joined me there too. Nice.

I think I'll end here and start the new job in a new post. :)