Old man and his dog

Old man and his dog.....

If this doesn't bring tears to your eyes, nothing will!-- OLD MAN AND HIS
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 Golfer and a cardealer . He had
enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the
forces of nature. He had entered grueling fitness 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
aramedic 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 doctors 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 wife 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 Mert. We began to bicker and argue. Alarmed,
Mert 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 beings on this earth. I was tired of waiting for a God who did
not 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 in
vain to each of the sympathetic voices that answered. 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?" "Yes sir ," 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. "Dad! 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
my wife, 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 Mert 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.
Thank you for reading and God Bless !
Jan Bagwell
Please pray for me and my family , My mother , David and Hali Bagwell , Scott and Emily , Elizabeth Bagwell