| CannonFarms |
| Posted 3/19/2008 11:26:31 AM |
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Active: 08-13-2006
Posts: 3050
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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. 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.
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| CannonFarms |
| Posted 3/19/2008 9:05:19 PM |
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Active: 08-13-2006
Posts: 3050
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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 dramatic ally 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.
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| CannonFarms |
| Posted 3/19/2008 9:05:44 PM |
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Active: 08-13-2006
Posts: 3050
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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.
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| CannonFarms |
| Posted 3/19/2008 9:06:17 PM |
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Active: 08-13-2006
Posts: 3050
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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. "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.
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| maligirl1 |
| Posted 3/20/2008 10:18:19 AM |
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Active: 12-14-2007
Posts: 371
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 thank you |
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| l_u_c_k_y333 |
| Posted 3/20/2008 5:56:08 PM |
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Active: 03-20-2008
Posts: 1
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That is the most wondrous story I have ever heard in my life.
My grandfather is getting well up into his years and with my grandmothers recent passing he had become more withdrawn and quite irritable. We knew that he was lonely and came to visit every day. This didn't seem as though it was helping much. The conversations didn't happen just a silent staring out of the dining room window at the wildlife he had once enjoyed.
Then I was at the local store and saw an add for Puppies. I grabbed the paper and called the number. Within a month and a half I had aquired a black chihahua puppy, and lost 4oo dollars. I would have payed a million for the look in myh grandfathers eyes the day i brought him to his new home.
Sitting, as usual in his chair in one of his ever present flannel shirts i put the tiny puppy in his pocket. At first he was confused as to why his pocket was squirming. Then the Smile that spread along his face was the most wondrous thing ever.
Him and "rocky" have been inseperable since, and visit's to grandfathers house are rather boisterous!!! |
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| CannonFarms |
| Posted 3/20/2008 6:06:43 PM |
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Active: 08-13-2006
Posts: 3050
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Glad you enjoyed the story. |
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| staceystange |
| Posted 3/21/2008 1:45:20 PM |
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Active: 03-13-2008
Posts: 33
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Those are both beautiful stories. These are why people buy.rescue dogs, to add to the joy in life, if only everyone could see this! |
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