Roxy
Starter
A friend sent this to me yesterday in email. I copied it and thought I would share it with you all. What happened yesterday in Omaha, Nebraska was terrible and so very sad. Please tell and show your loved ones how much you love and care for them. My thoughts and prayers are with the victims loved ones.
Subject: OLD MAN AND A DOG
>>
>>
>> Jody "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 injoyed
>> going 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 in
>> to 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 husband, Rick, 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
>> Rick. We began to bicker and argue. Alarmed, Rick 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?" "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 Rick, 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 Rick 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.
>>
>> ~by Catherine Moore~
>>
>> 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.
Subject: OLD MAN AND A DOG
>>
>>
>> Jody "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 injoyed
>> going 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 in
>> to 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 husband, Rick, 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
>> Rick. We began to bicker and argue. Alarmed, Rick 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?" "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 Rick, 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 Rick 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.
>>
>> ~by Catherine Moore~
>>
>> 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.
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