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

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.

      And if you don't send this to at least 4 people --- nobody

cares?  But do share this with someone.  Lost time can never be
 found.

      God answers our prayers in His time ... not ours.