you are welcome glad you liked it ----- Original Message ----- From: "Frances Vitulla" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> To: <[email protected]> Sent: Saturday, November 15, 2008 11:16 AM Subject: [RecipesAndMore] Re: Cheyenne, the dog
> > Hello Delma, This story brot me to tears. I guess it just shows what > prayer and God and animals can do. I will keep this one. Thank you > for sending this. It's just so sad and also beautifull. So thank you > Delma. > Original message: > >> this is long, but worth the time, >> Delma > >> Cheyenne, 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. '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 & 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. > >> do share this with someone. Lost time can never be found. > > >> > -- > Email services provided by the System Access Mobile Network. Visit > www.serotek.com to learn more about accessibility anywhere. > > > --~--~---------~--~----~------------~-------~--~----~ Access the Recipes And More list archives at: http://www.mail-archive.com/recipesandmore%40googlegroups.com/ Visit the group home page at: http://groups.google.com/group/RecipesAndMore -~----------~----~----~----~------~----~------~--~---
