The old man and the dog

[azsnowman]

This is kinda long but WELL worth the time to read 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.


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 being on this earth. I was tired of waiting for a
God who didn't 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 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.

~written in tears

[x-y-no]

That was a wonderful story. Thank you.