Thank you for that. That was BEAUTIFUL On Feb 6, 2008 6:44 AM, diana roller <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote:
> This is long but well worth it > > The Old Man and the 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 > 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 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. > > 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. > > ------------------------------ > Never miss a thing. Make Yahoo your > homepage.<http://us.rd.yahoo.com/evt=51438/*http://www.yahoo.com/r/hs> > > > -- The best way to clean your Chi's ears...get another Chi.
