"God Spelled Backward is 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
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 wi
Oh no. I have to have the rest of the story. Please!
I'll try and find it - didn't realize it was too much to post - wops......
Thank Goodness - hadn't deleted it yet....
'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.
But do share this with someone. Lost time can never be found
Such a beautiful story. Thank you so much for sharing. The unconditional love we receive from our animals is a true gift from God.
Glad I found the second part - need to be more careful!