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| Topic: The Old Man and the Dog | |
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Good Day Everyone...  
perhaps you have read this before... 
i have not, until today... 
it's a tender one... 
sooooo..... get out some tissues..or a hanky 
thank you sooo much Jamie 
((((( <<<<< Roaming Orator >>>>> )))))
...for passing it along
> > 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, ****, 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 ****. We began > > to > > bicker and argue. Alarmed, **** 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 ****, 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 **** 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 chance. > > > > > > > |
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Damn you people. Pulling at my heartstrings just like the media. Damn you
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Edited by
Rapunzel
on
Fri 05/09/08 09:00 AM
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Damn you people. Pulling at my heartstrings just like the media. Damn you  Wow!!! sorry you feel that way
 i am Not like the media
And life is too short , not to be sensitive
Well, here is some love & tenderness for you
anyway & I hope you have a beautiful day
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 awwwwww thx you
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awwwwww thx you
ooooooh....
now i feel soooo much better ...
love and hugs xoxox Sweetie....
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