A Father, Daughter & a Dog
- story by Catherine Moore
"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 ompetitions, 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 hip bones
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 is 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 or 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.
Christ Church Unity Church Prayer
The radiance of the Christ fills us to overflowing with the blessing of God’s love.
We give thanks for the divine activity of the Holy Spirit that establishes healing, abundant prosperity, joyous and loving relationships, guidance, wisdom and understanding that permeate all of our people and activities.
We are growing in God’s good. Our services, classes and activities are filled with joyous, loving, supportive people, eager to grow in God’s truth and bless each other.
We and our church are beacons of infinite blessings. The radiance of divine love attracts to us all that is necessary to be in joyful service to God and God’s children.
Divine Order operates joyously and completely in every aspect of our church and in every aspect of our lives.
We release all that is not of the Christ, all limiting beliefs, ideas and actions.
We incorporate the Christ consciousness in all our thoughts, words and actions. We affirm peace in our lifetime. The power of prayer is evident in mighty, healing, transforming ways.
Thank You, God, for Your continual infilling that establishes Your kingdom of blessing on earth.
Amen!
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