The Old Man and the Dog

This is an email forward I just received.                                                                         WARNING: Long~but good! It’s gonna make you cry! 

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The Old Man and the Dog

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 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. 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.

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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Dog Rules

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Dog Rules, hmm…Dogs RULE!!
Author Unknown

               

1. The dog is NOT allowed in the house. (Mine was: The dog is only allowed in the house when people are home)
2. OK, the dog IS allowed in the house, but ONLY in certain rooms.
3. The dog is allowed in ALL rooms, but must stay off the furniture.
4. The dog can get on the OLD furniture ONLY.
5. FINE, the dog is allowed on ALL the furniture, but he is NOT allowed to sleep with the humans on the bed.
6. The dog CAN sleep on the bed, but NOT under the covers. Patch doesn’t do covers unless I put some over him
7. The dog CAN sleep under the covers by invitation ONLY.
8. The dog CAN sleep under the covers EVERY NIGHT.
9. Humans MUST ASK permission to sleep under the COVERS with the dog! Patch has taken over Grandpa’s (my Dad) room. One time Grandpa came to house sit and he went to his bed along with Patch. Patch hogged the bed and Grandpa ended up on the couch-the rest of the weekend-lol

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Dogaholics Anonymous

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Dogaholics Anonymous

Author Unknown 

Good Evening. My name is Mercedes, and I *am* a dogaholic.

I would like to welcome all of you to this month’s meeting of “Dogaholics Anonymous”. Some of you are here tonight because a friend or relative brought you here. You may be sitting here thinking that you are o.k. and that you really don’t need any help. It is not easy to admit that you are a dogaholic and it is even harder to bring yourself to a DAA meeting for help. DAA is here to assist you.

I have some questions to ask you:

1. Can you say “bitch” in public without blushing?
2. Do you drive a station wagon, van, or 4×4 when everyone else drives a real car?
3. Do you have more than one car? One for you and one for the dogs? Patch has his own car~The Patchmobile (it’s my old 2004 Sentra)
4. Do you spend your vacations and holidays going to shows, specialties, and seminars when everyone else goes on a cruise?
5. If you do go overseas, is it to London in March to attend Crufts?
6. Do you discuss things at the dinner table that would make most doctors leave in disgust? Most definitely
7. Do you consider formal wear to be clean jeans and freshly washed tennis shoes? You know it
8. Is your interior decorator R.C. Steele? No~JOF: Just Old Furniture-lol
9. Was your furniture and carpeting chosen to match your dogs? No, but it sure isn’t anything fancy or new-lol
10. Are your end tables really dog crates with tablecloths thrown over them?
11. Do you know the meaning of CD, CDX, UD, CGC, HIC, WC, JH, MH, Ch, and OTCh? See my answers below
12. Is your mail made up primarily of dog catalogs, dog magazines, and premium lists? A lot of it is, along with teacher stuff too
13. Do you get up before dawn to go to Training Classes? Dog Shows? Seminars? No~just to WTD~Walk the Dog
14. If you do have dresses, do they all have pockets?
15. Do those pockets often contain freeze dried liver, Rollover, or squeaky toys? We just keep a bag of treats in Patch’s car
16. When you meet a new person, do you always ask them what kind of dog they have and pity them if they don’t have one? Of course
17. Do you remember the name of their dog sooner than you remember their name? Uh-huh-huh~Yes
18. Do you find yourself referring to people as “Rover’s Mom” or “Rover’s Dad”? Oh yes. My Aunt was asking my cousin’s child (4 years old at the time) about me and she looked confused~then she said, “Oh, you mean Patch’s Mom”?
19. Do you find non-dog people boring? Sometimes

If you answered “YES” to one of the above, there is still hope. If you answered “YES” to two, you are in serious trouble. If you answered “YES” to three or more, you have come to the right place.

My advice to all of you who answered “YES” to three or more questions is to sit back and smile, turn to the smiling person next to you and know that your life will always be filled with good friends and good dogs, and it will never be boring.

CD=Campanion Dog; CDX=Companion Dog Excellence (AKC-CKC); UD=Utility Dog; HIC=Herding Instinct Certified; CGC=Canine Good Citizen (AKC ); WC=Working Certificate; JH my Dad’ initials-lol~Junior Hunter (AKC); MH=my intials-lol ~Master Hunter (AKC); Ch=Champion; OTch=Obedience Trial Champion (AKC-CKC)

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